


Bewitching Headless

by Sing



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: AU, Adventure, Angst, At last there's fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Fluff, OC, Slow Burn, but it's a fairytale I'm allowed., defying my own logic, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 43
Words: 56,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sing/pseuds/Sing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Headless ran off pretty early in the winter season, and was still unheard from at the season finale, what will he do without Katrina? does he still have a shot at becoming human again? </p><p>Beauty and the Beast retelling</p><p>Chapter 42 up!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sleepy Hollow

Headless lumbered through the woods, wandering, lost. The pull of darkness was strong, but he had resisted, had fought against it, had slain any meandering devil or demon that sought to swear loyalty to him. Had turned a deaf ear to the voice that hungered for blood, revenge. Had silenced the heart that ached for Katrina, a life he had lost, had willingly signed over to become the monster he was. He mourned himself for the first time, and all of the bitterness and rage he had harboured towards Crane and his fellow Witness, was even more sour when he realized how alone he was. Without hope. Having turned so completely in what remained of his core from evil, he hungered for a humanity, a second chance he doubted he would get. Because he knew Katrina had perished. Had felt it. Not in his soul, because who knew what shape or place that was in anymore, but he felt it as an absence from the world. As a human he had not recognized her magic, but as Headless, her magic had a distinct taste, smell, it filled the air in a way, like a constant breeze. He had felt that breeze vanish from the world, and so knew she was dead. And so knew his one chance at having this curse reversed was dead. 

His horse had escaped him, so he had been travelling on foot, in his usual heavy tread leaving stomped footprints in the debris of the woods. He carried his axe, but did not use it. He had come across an abandoned house, a grand house, on the edge of another city nearby. He'd passed a road sign marked "Risen Hearth" He'd skulked around the house for two days before deciding he would take residence in it. It was an old farming property, a stable out in the back, which would be perfect if his horse decided to show up. He marched in and sat in the dank dust of it, and contemplated who could help him.

He had heard the witching bell when it rang. He knew there must be more witches to turn to. 

 

********************

Jenny had found Cynthia and Macey safe lodgings when Irving went awol. A place called Risen Hearth not too unlike Sleepy Hollow, but without the permanent fog that seemed to always hang in the air. They were adjusting poorly to their newfound magic. Macey had been quick to embrace a chance at something that gave her an advantage, new strength, something that overcame her wheel chair. Cynthia however shunned the gift, so thoroughly, that it kept betraying her at all of the wrong times. Like the man's grocery stand that she had just set on fire. Cynthia panicked and staggered away from the man, not because of the flames, but because of how readily he had cried out, "WITCH!"

The thing with people of Risen Hearth was, they were very old fashioned, and extremely superstitious, as was evidenced by the sudden crowd gathering around her, pointing and jeering, calling her a freak, pulling at her arms, demanding she cast a charm for them, or demanding that she die. 

"Burn her!"

"What century are you from?" someone argued.

"She can cast love spells"

"Or ones for money!"

"We'll never have to work again!"

"I still say kill her!"

"Magic is evil!"

 

Cynthia was sure she was going to faint from the whole ordeal. when she heard the crowd begin to shriek and scream. 

"Run!"

"A Devil!"

"Demon!"

Cynthia felt herself being wrestled away from the grasping hands and carried away from the voices still screaming in terror, suddenly she was hurled into the ground, and she groaned as she spat out leaves and rolled onto her back. She looked up. And found herself staring up at the notorious murderer that had begun it all. Flaming axe. Revolutionary coat. Hessian tattoo. No head. 

She scampered backwards from him but he quickly grabbed her, wrestling something around her neck. She fought and thrashed and screamed but he kept a hand over her mouth, she bit into it but it was like biting into rubber, or a cloud, it did not harm him. And when she finally dared look into the vacant space where his head should have been, she was horrified to suddenly see eyes and mouth and other human features peering back at her. 

Headless was grateful that he had had the foresight to filch back his necklace from Katrina before she left with Crane. He watched Cynthia carefully, her eyes wide in terror and confusion. 

"Please don't hurt me, I have a daughter" she heaved, blinking back tears. "I don't know anything about Crane and the others---"

"I don't give a damn about Crane" he snapped and Cynthia cowered away from him, twisting in his grasp.

"What, what do you want?"

"You,"

Cynthia paled. "I don't understand--"

"You're a witch"

"I'm not---"

"Don't lie to me!" he roared. His voice reverberated throughout the woods. When there was silence he continued. "When the bell was rung," he started slowly. Cynthia shook her head, but she knew what he was talking about, of course she did, she'd felt her blood spark the minute she'd heard it. Felt tingling in her fingers and a humming that persisted since that night, no matter how she fought to ignore it. "You were awakened," Abraham spoke. He'd learned many things from Henry, all of the hair brained schemes he had mentioned. The Awakening had only come up once, fleetingly, never to be implemented, but then everything with Moloch had gone so very wrong, and he supposed Henry had revisited the idea. 

Cynthia refused to answer him. Focused on breathing instead. In. Out. In. Out.

"Katrina had promised to help me return to what I was," he met her gaze, seeing the question there "Katrina is dead," he answered. "I need a witch to help me become human again. And you will help me,"

"You're a monster" Cynthia whispered, tears running down her cheeks. "A killer, a cold hearted murderer, you single handedly brought unrest and terror to a quiet town that had done nothing to you all for what? petty revenge," she seethed. "I will never help you," 

"You will, I will keep you and your daughter safe from the mad citizens who hope your powers can advance them, and who will kill you if you don't bend to their whims" He finally let her go and he offered her his hand. She took it, her skin crawling as she did so and rose to her feet. "I have found a house at here. You will come live in it. No one will harm you. They have seen me now, and know fear. You will hone your craft, transform me, and then you and your daughter will be free," 

Cynthia wanted so badly to burst into tears, but she would not show any more weakness to this monster. Even if she could by whatever hex see his face. She met his eyes with a stony gaze. "Fine,"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macey and Cynthia move in

Cynthia coughed as her and Macey crossed the threshold. Macey glared at the headless form looming over the front door and whispered to her mother. "Why we doing this again?"

"Because I had an episode in the market, and those people either want to use us or kill us," 

"Fair enough," Macey whispered back. "But you know, if you'd actually try to control it, you wouldn't have had the accident in town, and then tall dark and headless here wouldn't have had to rescue you, and we wouldn't be here," she emphasized. Cynthia glared down at her daughter. 

"I realize that, thank you," 

Abraham cleared his throat but only Cynthia could hear. She was still wearing the damn necklace. It wouldn't budge. It shocked every time she tried to remove it. "You may pick whatever rooms you want upstairs, make yourselves at home however you see fit, I will be down here,"

"Doing what?" Cynthia snorted. Abraham sneered at her. 

"Oh, you know, polishing my axe" his eyes filled with wicked glee at the way Cynthia grasped for Macey, rolling her along down the hall away from Abrahams penetrating gaze. 

Macey cracked her fingers once they were out of sight and began muttering.

"What are you doing?"

"Sprucing up the place," Macey replied, matter of fact. Cynthia stood back and watched as cobwebs cleared and mop and broom began leisurely slopping away grime. "I' found a book the other day, its mainly domestic charms, but they aren't hard, you could learn," she said meaningfully, but her mother was too distracted by the hardwood gleaming on the floors and the stair case that shone and the walls and ceiling suddenly pristine and new. 

"Couldn't you do it?"

"Do what?" Macey queried, rolling around, smiling at her handiwork.

"Fix headless?"

"He got a nick name now?"

"Couldn't you?" Cynthia asked again. Macey shrugged. "If I had the right book, maybe, but I'm not a 'grown witch' like you are, you're probably more powerful than me, if you'd only tap in, you're buzzing with it mom,"

"Buzzing?"

"I can feel it around you, humming, and I know you hear it, if you'd just stop trying to drown it out all the time,"

"I'm a human Macey not a witch,"

"We were a family and now we're not," Macey shot back. "I was a girl who could walk and now I've got a chair. Learn to adjust," she spat, taking off further down the hall. "I have," 

Cynthia stood, frozen in shame. She had forgotten how much Macey had lost. How much they could still lose if she failed at this.

She heard the floor creak as Headless stood behind her. "The sooner you help me the sooner you can start making things right in your life again. I suggest you get studying," he hissed.

Cynthia watched his retreating back, felt her body thrumming with energy. Sparking and crackling. She listened to the humming, what it had to say.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Sleepy Hollow, and some contemplations

Abbie and Crane walked through the streets of Sleepy Hollow, sharing a bag of donut holes, coffee in the other hand. 

"So, what's our next move Crane?" Abbie asked.

"I believe, we should tie up loose ends," Crane surmised, popping another bite in his mouth. Abbie smiled. The pleasure Crane got from sweets would never cease to amaze her. 

"What do you mean?"

"There is still the matter of Abraham, we have not seen hide nor tail of him since Katrina convinced me he was worth saving," Crane's voice deflated here, so many decisions he had made at Katrina's behest and he found himself wondering constantly if he hadn't always been making egregious errors. 

"There've been no more beheadings," Abbie offered helpfully. "Maybe he's taking a break, or he's retired," 

"Retired?"

"You know, decided he would rather not be a headless horseman for the rest of his life, or death, whatever the hell" Abbie huffed. "There's also the matter of the kindred, they're both still bungling around out there, causing mayhem," she met Crane's gaze. "Possibly." 

"I do not know what to think." Crane settled on a bench. "He had seemed earnest, at the time, but desperation makes men foolish things. Love even worse."

"You think he said whatever he did with hope he'd have another shot at Katrina," she finished, reaching for the last donut hole. Crane watched her, mildly irritated but much more consumed with this present train of thought. "Figured that if she was willing to give him a second chance as a human, might give him a second chance at her heart," she swallowed, dusted off her hands. "You suppose he knows she's dead?" 

Crane breathed in deeply. "I fear he might, somehow. Other worldly as they were, they might have forged some sort of.....bond" he cringed as he found the right word. 

Abbie got off the bench, cocked her head to the side and looked down at him. "The real question now is, does he know you did her in?"

******************************

There was magic in the air, yes there was. But nothing like the refreshing breeze of Katrina, no, this was a storming energy, like a fog, damp, moist, cloudy and rife with inner turmoil, it tasted like rain water, Abraham thought as he puttered around in the library that the younger Irving had restored. Cynthia had made little to no progress. Which frustrated him to no end, he hoped perhaps the daughter would have some sort of break through, but besides domestic chores, and bringing with her a looming cloud of misplaced and misdirected emotions, Macey wasn't showing much promise. He closed one book after another as he plucked them off the shelf, putting them back carefully after perusing them. Ichabod had loved books, he had spent much time trying to lure him away from them for some sport. Back then. Before.

Before Katrina. 

Had he ever suspected the love of his life could betray him so completely? how could he have known? but wasn't the spark there, the very damning instant that they had met. He'd seen the way her eyes sparkled. And even after they were woke again in this century, he could still see her clinging to it, clinging to that wrong, horrible feeling of......love, for him. His best friend. He had wanted nothing more then to see the world burn to the ground, for there to be penance for his pain, his broken heart. So he sold his soul for the power to do it, and now, bereft of the woman he loved, his humanity, all Abraham truly hoped for was to return to mortality once again so he might succeed in ending his life with a finality that no spell could reverse. He laughed with the absurdity of it.

He wanted to be mortal again so he could die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cynthia IS trying.

"Damnit" she curses. Her head pounds, her fingers trembled, she was completely out of breath, and she still hadn't even made the curtain move. She was so angry, so frustrated with this damn new heritage of hers, with her marriage, with life, with Headless that she wished she could turn the whole house into ash that it could---

And just like that the curtains leapt into flame. Cynthia yelped and flipped through the book, looking for any spell that could douse a fire when Macey zipped in---she'd somehow figured out a way to enchant her wheels for speed and threw her arms wide. A wave crashed over the room, soaking them both thoroughly. Cynthia's teeth chattered. "Thanks,"

"Are you secretly a pyromanic or something?" Macey teased and Cynthia wanted to be mad and to scold her daughter but she couldn't. 

"I just, I don't get this, Macey, this, this!" she gestured to herself, pinching her skin, pulling her hair. "I listened, or tried to, and now all I hear is this thrumming in the air, all the time, it's enough to drive me out my damn mind, and I'm still not any better at this, and when I get angry then, whoosh burn the damn house down,"

The thundering footfalls of Abraham made the Irving women freeze. Macey only saw his heaving posture, silent and imposing. Cynthia saw the curiosity flickering across his face, the way his nostrils flared, smelling the air. 

"The air is much changed in here. Burned," he wrinkled his nose. 

"I caught the curtain on fire," Cynthia explained. stepping in front of Macey.

"And who put it out?"

"My daughter"

"She really is better than you, isn't she" he goaded.

"She may very well be," Cynthia conceded. "But I am trying, Head--"

"Abraham," he cut her off.

Cynthia paused. Macey, who was not privy to this conversation took that as her cue to silently roll out of their way. Abraham stepped aside to let her pass.

"I do not want to be named for this form anymore than I want to live in it," he continued. "Abraham, Bram, Abe, anything but Headless, I despise that nickname the Witnesses gave me as much as Crane himself,"

Cynthia swallowed and turned away from him. "I am trying, Bram, and I think I might be getting better at it....anyway. We need groceries," 

"Groceries?"

"You promised safety and shelter, I assume you know living breathing humans, that which you aspire to be, need food?"

She had the pleasure of watching Bram's face colour in embarrassment. She might not have full control of her powers yet, but she did have the strength of a sharp tongue, and she'd not yet met a man who could stand it. Mortal or Immortal. 

"Of course,"

"Well I'm not going into town, you've seen how they act, find a way," she told him, for the first time feeling like she was exerting some control over this situation. 

Bram nodded, taken aback. "I will, I will find a way......."

"You haven't even bothered to learn our names," Cynthia ground out, waving her hand to dismiss him. "You take us hostage, turn our lives upside down and can't be troubled to learn our name, meanwhile you're throwing around demands about what not to call you. I don't know what happened between you and Crane, and Katrina, not really, but it might have to do with the way you treat people, Bram," she spat. 

Bram stood, frozen in shock. "If you speak to me that way again"

"You'll what?" Cynthia snapped, approaching him, "You'll kill us? go hunting for another disposable witch and off them when they don't comply? lengthen your already miserable eternity? by all means do it!" Cynthia bared her neck to him. "Where's your damn ax, Headless?" she taunted. "Swing it now and be done with it!" he had begun to back away, out the door. The air had shifted again. He could smell her magic. Like earth, like wood, could taste it, like dirt, like ash, a strange bit like honey. He could feel it, creeping up his neck, hot, heat, simmering, smouldering, his coat was on fire. 

His coat was on fire.

Cynthia had lit his coat on fire. And unlike her previous attempts, and all those prior, her magic hurt. It made contact, it reached and scalded. He cried out, buckling on his knees, writhing and rolling on the floor trying to put himself out. Cynthia stood over him, a look of satisfaction on her face lingering for but a moment before she registered what she'd done. Then she seemed to have a moment of triumph, she had willed a way to get at him, hurt him, and she'd done it, but she'd also never hurt anyone before, undead or otherwise, and she was now afraid of what she was capable of. Brams yowling threatened to overwhelm the sound of her magic calling to her, coaxing her, trying to tell her how to eradicate the blaze that was Bram. 

"Shut up!" she shrieked. She listened for the hum, the hum that grew, like the string section of an orchestra, stronger, vibrating through her, crescendoing, until a calm washed over her and she exhaled. A second later Bram lay still on the floor, the flames were out. Macey had just reappeared in the door. "Did you?" she asked Macey. Her daughter shook her head.

"No mom," she smiled. "That was all you," she nodded to Bram's still form on the floor. "So, is he dead or what?"

A groaning sound answered their question. Cynthia pursed her lips. "Go read or practice, explore the grounds or something while I take care of this,"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tending to Bram's burns

Bram hissed as Cynthia dabbed the damp cloth over his shoulder. 

"If you'd stop whining I might finish this sooner," Cynthia admonished, frowning at the skin that was red, raw, in some places peeling. Bram chuckled darkly. 

"Who'd have known that all you needed to tap into your power was a little riling up" 

Cynthia snapped the towel against his back maliciously and sneered to hear him howl. "Quiet," for a few beats Bram complied. Cynthia worked steadily on, using a lotion to soothe the burns and covering with plaster. Satisfied with the work she'd done on his back she moved to his arms, also in poor shape. He grunted as she moved them to clean and wrap them. "I'd have called a medic, but I doubt they'd have treated you," she said at last. "Or at the very least, they'd want to address your missing noggin first," 

Bram harrumphed. "Or you could heal me, if you'd learn any sense of control whatsoever,"

Cynthia stopped and leaned in close to his ear. "You think my flaming you was accidental? That I hadn't wanted to hurt you?"

Bram smirked. "Then why'd you put me out? You know, I only want you to restore my humanity so I can die a natural death and rest. But seeing how potent your powers are, maybe you could do me a favour and just finish me off," Cynthia dropped the towel and backed away from him.

"Never. I'm only using these powers because you're forcing me to learn how to wield them. And even then I will never use these to commit murder. I'm many things, but I'm not--"

"Me," Bram answered. His back still turned to her "Say it. You're not a monster like me." Cynthia clenched her hands, moved to look out the window. "But you're also not human, like them, like him, your husband," 

Cynthia kept her gaze outside.

"Will he accept you?"

"Frank accepts everything about me," Cynthia replied calmly, but her trembling hands betrayed her words. 

"Like how you accepted his budding friendship with the Witness's sister? Would he willingly accept that for a moment while you were burning me to the ground today you smiled in triumph? I saw it," Bram jeered, turning to face her. "You felt the power, and you liked it,"

Cynthia steeled herself, picked up the cloth and walked back over to him. "I'm not here to make friends, Bram. I'm gonna get good with this fire inside of me, restore you, and then leave you here alone so you can off yourself in peace. Get that damn smirk off your face." She reached to smack him but he caught her wrist. 

"You're more interesting when you're hostile,"

"And you're creepier when you attempt conversation," she said, pulling her hand away and stalking out the room.

"I'm still covered in burns here!" he hollered after her. 

"It's funny that you think I give a damn"

********************************

"I think he's probably gone to find another witch, to help restore him," Crane muttered, perusing a book in the archives. Abbie looked up at him from across the desk.

"You got a direct line to him over there Crane?"

"No. However," he thrust his finger into the air and approached Abbie's side of the desk, spinning the book he was looking at around to face her. " A restoration ritual," he explained. "The act of reuniting a deceased party with a missing object that they hold dear, when rejoined, there is a brief window in time in which life can be given back to them, to live fully, or to complete the soul to journey to the afterlife, happily."

"Well we already know Headless sold his soul, so how would this work for him, not to mention undead"

"I think the key lies in the head, which is physical--"

"Kicking around somewhere around here on the kindred. There's a more dire reason why he's not supposed to get his head back, reuniting other horsemen etc etc"

"Yes but, well, many things are unconventional, in our circumstances, Lieutenant. I think, what with Moloch destroyed, Henry taken care of, there is a possibility that the rest of those plans, have fallen through."

"You think he might be redeemable," Abbie concluded in disbelief. "That maybe getting his head back....."

"Would aid in transforming him and then we can kill him, a permanent, proper death," Crane finished, cold determination in his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Out in the yard Macey turned her face up to the sky and tried to listen to her own magic. Listen to sunlight instead of rain, listen to breezes instead of torrents, listen to anything but anger and distrust and worry about the situtation her and her mother were in. She fumbled for her phone in her pocket and tried to dial

*********************************

Cynthia heard Bram lumbering into the kitchen as she put the kettle on. He'd managed to put his shirt back on.

"I'm still going to need groceries," she muttered, not turning to face him. Bram scoffed.

"Before we have that arguement again I find myself a pile of ash, your name, please,"

Smiling to herself Cynthia rummaged through a cupboard. "Cynthia, Irving, but you already knew that, my daughter is Macey,"

"Dually noted. I'll frighten someone into doing the shopping for us, can't have you getting mauled fetching food," he groaned as he stretched for a mug.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting you a mug? does that offend you? should I cower in fear?"

"Are you cracking a joke right now?"

"Depends on whether or not I'm being successful at it,"

Rather than answer Cynthia snatched the mug from his hand and dropped a tea bag in it. "Thank you," she grumbled as Bram pulled up a chair by the table. "So, explain this to me," she brought over her mug and sat opposite him, watching him studiously. "I thought you were immortal, how come I could hurt you?"

Bram shrugged. "It's never happened before. Just must be something you do to me," he sneered and then stopped when he saw the ball of white light hovering in her hand, aimed at him. His eyes widened. "You're very quick to anger aren't you?"

Cynthia bounced the ball in her hand. "We can find out," she replied. 

"I think I bring this out in you," he quipped. "There's something about me, that makes your magic so powerful it can harm the untouchable," 

"If you mean that you're infuriating and inspire a very strong impulse towards violence, then yes, you might be correct," she retorted, clenching her fist the ball of energy disappeared and she went about finishing up preparing her tea.

"If I had any remaining inclination towards End of Days, you'd make a good ally,"

"Do you wanna find out if my power is enough to cut something else off?" 

Bram ruffled and rose from the table. "My my, what a temper you have," and casually strolled from the room.

**********************

Macey glared down at the phone. No service. She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. Just then she heard a rustling sound, she looked up, peering to the edge of the property. Red eyes glittered back at her from out of the foliage. Spooked, she started rolling backwards, preparing to turn back to the house when she heard galloping.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bram's horse finally turns up. But something else has vanished.

The red eyed thing cut off her path and Macey ground to a terrified halt. She'd never seen a horse so white. With eyes blood red. That chuffed with a menacing ferocity. It's mane was thorny, the way it pawed the ground digging deep holes in the earth. She had half a mind to scream if she wasn't so sure it was about to rear up and trample her into the ground when she heard the heavy footfalls of Headless storming towards them. Must he storm everywhere? she wondered for a moment. The horse swung it's head towards him, bowed to it's master scolding it gently. She imagined he was scolding it, the way it hung it's head--it was impossible to tell without being able to read Headless's facial expressions. She wondered for the first time what it was her Mother saw with that necklace. Headless turned to her, making calming motions with his hand, as though trying to assure her that four legged demon beast wasn't dangerous. He curled his fingers outwards and inwards. 

Come. The gesture said. Come over, he won't bite. Macey wheeled very slowly over and the horse, who before seemed quite content to bite her head off a moment before met her eyes. They weren't blood red, she amended to herself. They were like garnets. A little duller now that they had found their master. Headless continued to gesture, urging her on. 

Surely he didn't mean for her to pet it? But his insistency told her he meant exactly that. She tentatively reached up to its neck. Garnet eyes blinked slowly at her, and then it moved to nuzzle her hand. Shocked, Macey pulled away. "Is this a demon horse or a pet?" she spat, if Headless answered she wouldn't know, but by the way he stomped his foot and slapped his stomach, she supposed he might have been laughing at her. Cynthia came out the house, having followed Headless after he left the kitchen. Bram was red from laughing at her skittish daughter. She frowned.

"What the hell is that," she nodded to the horse. Bram turned over his shoulder and waved her over. She advanced, slowly, cautiously. Bram wondered if skittishness was an inherent trait of the Irving women. 

"My horse," he beamed proudly. Macey moved over to her mother, still eying the beast warily. She watched her mother talking casually with the decapitated corpse walking upright and cringed, inhaled the air, tasted rain water. Her own damp, confused power swirling around her. 

"Does the damn thing have a name or not," Cynthia snapped.

"Are you naturally this prickly?"

"Answer me, Bram"

"Demon, fitting isn't it?"

Cynthia shuddered. "I suppose it's going to stay here?" she quirked a brow. She gestured to it's appearance. "Macey, any hope you know how to make it look less like, well, that?"

"Maybe, girl or boy?"

"Male," Bram answered Cynthia, and she translated. 

"I prefer Deeds,"

Bram looked at Cynthia, perplexed. "Why Deeds?"

Cynthia rolled her eyes. She was going to tire of playing translator, quickly. "Why Deeds Macey?"

"He did dirty deeds with that jerk riding him, maybe he'll do good ones while we're here," 

"She has hopes to rehabilitate him?" Bram inquired, trying not to laugh. Oh to be so naive. Cynthia scowled.

"She's wrong to think anything involved with you could be good, but it will make her more comfortable. I hope,"

Macey nodded in agreement and she watched as Headless shrugged his shoulders. He silently turned and motioned for Deeds to follow after him to the stable, leading him by the reins.

Alone with her daughter Cynthia kneeled in the grass. "You okay?"

"As okay as I can be, here. When will you know if you're able to do whatever it is he wants and we can get out of here,"

"I don't know, I only just started having anything resembling control today. But together, if you'll help me, it might be soon,"

"I don't like the way my magic feels," Macey confessed. "At first it was exciting, strong, now it feels gloomy, oppressive, damp, and cold,"

"I think we have a lot of unresolved issues that might be interfering with how we operate it, but we'll work through it, here, and afterwards, somehow, Lord help me," Cynthia turned her eyes to the skies above. "Mind if I sit out here a bit with you? I need some air,"

Macey smiled at her mother. "Pull up some grass mom,"

after a few beats Macey wondered aloud. "Do you think they'll find us eventually? that they're looking for him?"

Staring hard at a patch of grass, willing it to burn, Cynthia sighed. "Hopefully," 

********************************

"So exactly how are we going to track the kindred to make sure he doesn't find it first?" Abbie asked Crane as they continued rummaging through books. 

Crane cursed. "What more than damnable magic. Where'd I put that blasted---"

"Mills, Crane," Irving strolled in, paused, taking in the ransacked state of the archives. "Uh,"

"We're trying to think of a way to handle Headless," Abbie explained.

"By tearing the joint apart? Ain't no Lunette the clown around here to do the ten second tidy, and don't look at me, slavery is over," Irving mused. "Any word from Jenny?"

Abbie groaned. "She's been off the radar since the day after TownHall"

behind her Crane froze over the box he was picking apart. They had taken to calling the demise of Katrina and Henry TownHall, to minimize the amount of memory and emotion it imparted, but still, ever so slightly, one could see Crane tense up at the mention of it. Irving glanced over at him, Abbie too, they counted to ten, and then, as if waking from a trance Crane shook himself and carried on. Business as usual. 

"I haven't had any contact with Cynthia and Macey since she hid them away,"

"She was trying to protect them, Frank" Abbie admonished as she picked a book at random and flipped through it. "You were unpredictable, conniving, dangerous,"

"Hey hey hey," Irving frowned.

"All I'm saying is, wherever they are, they're safe. Jenny wouldn't have put them in danger. I'm more concerned about where she is though to be honest, in the past Jenny dropping off the radar wasn't unheard of, but she's part of this team now, and she knows it, knows the importance of it, I'm worried she's gone off on some wild tangent that she hopes might help and has gotten herself in trouble," 

"Hey," Irving wrapped an arm around her. "Your sister is a very capable woman, she'll turn up."

"It's gone! the damning thing is gone! Crane boomed, clearing a table with a swoop of his arm.

"What do you mean, gone?"

"The Grimoire!" 

Abbie blanched. "What?"

Crane drew a deep breath and spoke very slowly. "I think, Miss Jenny might have taken the Grimoire,"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But why?

"Why would Jenny take the Grimoire Crane that doesn't make any damn sense," she snapped. "She hasn't even been here since...."

"TownHall" Crane affirmed. "We all came back here to drop off our load, and I haven't had need of the grimoire since. But she has eluded us all for the past few days,"

"I know you're not insinuating she's working against us," Abbie bristled. Crane raised his hands in surrender. 

"Never. Knowing Miss Jenny, she might have taken it to someone more versed in magic, to decipher some of its further uses.....or destroy it."

"Destroy it?"

Crane huffed. "Well it would prevent it from falling in the wrong hands, wouldn't it." 

"I wanna rule out the possibility Jenny did it, maybe there was a theft. Irving cut in.

"Or that she just kept it with her for safekeeping. Knowing Jenny it's just being kicked around in her bag. She'll have it when she gets back, from, wherever."

***********************

Jenny sat down at a diner in Risen Hearth, scrolling through her phone over and over again. No calls. No messages. Something didn't feel right. She'd told them to contact her once a day, it hadn't lasted more than a week. They weren't at the house she had found for them, and all of the citizens claimed to know nothing of them. She dumped her phone back in her bag and lugged out the heavy book. Sure with Henry and Katrina gone it seemed there was no immediate danger. But keeping the grimoire, however protected they liked to imagine it was in the archives, still seemed a poor decision. So she'd grabbed the book when she took off for Risen Hearth to find out what the hell had happened to Cynthia and Macey. 

A male waiter came to her table, smiled at her. His name tag read Toby. 

"Your order miss?" Toby's eyes landed on the book and raised a brow. 

"Classic literature," Jenny quipped. "your tomato soup please." 

Toby's gaze lingered on the dark tome, but then flickered back to her face. "Sure thing,"

"Hey, one last thing."

"Yeah miss?"

"I'm looking for some friends that came to stay here. But no one around here has seen them. Anything, weird going on around here?"

"Risen Hearth is overall strange, to be honest. But nothing out of the ordinary."

Jenny sighed. "Thanks,"

"I'll be back with your soup in a moment." 

Jenny checked her phone again. She fought down the sick feeling in her stomach. Frank would not like to hear she'd lost his family. 

***************************  
It was a week after she had scorched him, and Cynthia was once again trying a mundane task. Throwing fire and was grand and all, but she'd like to master some basics. 

Cynthia inhaled and exhaled, standing absolutely still, she managed to get the curtain to draw shut on it's own. Deliberate applause broke her reverie and she found Bram standing in the door way. "Impressive," 

"Save me the sarcasm"

"oh, and bright too," He sneered. "Here," he lobbed a book on the desk. "Macey found this in that library, herb journal of some sort, she says she's read through it all ready. That you should have a go. Seeing how abysmal your practice has been going" 

"Thank you," Cynthia glanced at the book on the table but made no move towards it, instead she wanted to focus on opening the curtain again. Open. Shut. Open. Shut it, half way. She smiled at her progress, even though she was aware of Bram's eyes boring a whole into the back of her head. 

"How's Deeds?"

Bram groaned. "She found a spell. He doesn't look himself anymore, I can tell you that much." 

"So. I wanted to talk about this necklace," Cynthia fiddled with the green stone. "This was Katrina's?"

He nodded slowly.

"So she could see you, correct?" He nodded again in the affirmative. "And you gave it to me, so that we could communicate. Did she, wear this, often? I'm only asking because......sometimes I think it's....got something of her in it. Her memories, an energy. Not her, of course, but if there's some essence of her still in it, and you so deeply cared for her."

Bram regarded her, impressed at her reasoning. "You think there's a possibility that's what hurts me, something left over from her, well done,"

"If I'm right, what hurts you is a physical or magical manifestation of her.....being turned on you,"

His face clouded. "Perhaps."

"It might not happen anymore if you'd take the necklace off. It shocks me when I try."

"No. I have enough demons to live with. I'll let what remains of her keep you company awhile," 

*********************************

Macey brushed Deeds in the barn. He's brown with a black mane, still thorny, and his eyes still red jewels, but less terrifying than he was when he first turned up. She hoped there might be a day when she'd be able to heal herself and she would be able to learn to ride a horse, one day. In the meantime, after brushing Deeds, she settled for discreetly rolling down the long winding, lonely path back down to the heart of Risen Hearth, where she stopped for a shake, if she had time she'd go to the library. The people had never seen her work magic, had not been present when her mother had caused such a stir that day at the market, so she went completely unnoticed as she milled around. She never went too far, because she had a long journey back 'home' and the trek made her tired. But it was nice to get away from the strange dealings taking place, with Headless thundering through the house like the ghoul he is, the murderer he is, and her mom, trying to figure out how to wield her magic properly. 

Macey went to her usual table. 

"What can I get you today Miss--oh! Hey, how's it going?" Toby smiled down at her. "The usual?"

Macey smirked and nodded. "Business must be really slow around here for you to remember my order,"

Toby looked around at the deserted diner. "You think?" he joked. 

Macey laughed him off and checked her phone once more. She cursed. She'd hoped being out of the house she'd have reception here at least. Surely she wasn't the only one in Risen Hearth having a service problem?


	9. Chapter 9

Toby is eighteen, and has been working at the diner, for exactly three weeks. Exactly the same time Cynthia and Macey arrived in town. But they don't know that, and they don't need to. Because Toby is a man who makes his own destiny, by whatever means necessary, and he is accountable to no one. Not to the woman who was there last week, sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Not the man who's shop he set aflame in the market, thus leading to a commotion and accusations of witch craft of some poor woman. Not the demon who came storming in, took her, and vanished. Toby is not concerned with that, because there's something else he needs. And he's pretty sure he's just about figured out how he's going to accomplish it. He smiles at Macey, admires her dark hair. Wonders how long it'll be before she figures out that no one is ever going to reach her no matter how much she tries with her phone. "Here you go," he says cheerily as he sets her order down. The air around her is like a damp fog. He can smell magic.

***********************

Jenny fretted. She'd gotten back into Sleepy Hollow an hour ago but she hadn't met with the gang. No, she couldn't deal with that stress yet. She'd called Abbie. Sorry, she shouldn't have taken off, especially with the grimoire, yes, it was irresponsible, yes, of course she still had it but Abbie would you just shut up a minute!

silence

"Abbie?"

"I'm here, you haven't yelled at me like that in a while," 

Jenny winced. Abbie sounded hurt.

"Listen I'm just stressed out. I relocated Cynthia and Macey to protect them from Frank while he was still under Henry's control, but I haven't heard from them, I went out to the place I put them in, and no one's heard of them, it's like they've vanished Abbie, and I'm freaking terrified,"

****************************

Bram's axe glowed where it rested by the wall. He hadn't had need of it since the Irving's had arrived. It hadn't glowed at all, but it was now, and it filled him with dread. That axe had only pulsed with that kind of hellish light when another Horseman had been near. The taste of rust filled him. The air felt dry. Outside the green trees were shrivelling. There hadn't been rain in the past month. As a mortal man, he would have worried about crops. He imagined the other farmers of Risen Hearth were having similar concerns. 

He stared at the axe, pulsing steadily. 

***************************

In Sleepy Hollow, a farmer confronted a miscreant creeping around on his property. 

The following morning the wife reported her husband missing.

His dried out corpse was found propped up like a scarecrow in his corn field.


	10. Chapter 10

"We'll get to the bottom of this Mrs. Dowell" Abbie assured as her and Crane left the farming property. They got in the car and started driving back into town. It wasn't until they reached the archives that Crane spoke.

"Well, I didn't like the look of that,"

Abbie shook her head. "Farming man becomes a scarecrow in his own crops, it's a damn shame," she agreed as she opened the door, letting Crane stroll in before her. "So what do you think we're dealing with here?"

"Be warned, you might not like the answer,"

***************************

Cynthia couldn't sleep at night. She tossed and turned and saw things she shouldn't have. She hadn't been exaggerating to Bram. Katrina's memories unfurled before her at night when she closed her eyes. The feelings too. And she didn't like how closely Katrina's feelings resembled some of her own.

An image swirled of Crane and Abbie with their heads knit together over a book, and Katrina watching from the back of the room. Hearing them share a confidential thought or chuckle. 

Doubt.

Frank when he spoke to Jenny, the way Jenny seemed almost overly concerned, even if she meant well.

Doubt.

Her gut wrenched with a memory of being berated by Bram--Katrina--not her, of when he had captured her and he had cruelly reminded her how quickly Crane had gone bounding and leaping into Purgatory to save Abbie. She felt the twist of jealousy, the bitter taste of it welling in her mouth as she tried to deny how deeply the words hurt her. Cynthia felt a sympathy for Katrina she'd never meant to experience, and it was and had been wreaking havoc on her for the past few days. 

Cynthia hated the way the necklace summoned experiences from Katrina's life that felt similar to hers, or made them seem so. She was beginning to wonder if the unrest she felt were her own feelings or the influence of the damned piece of jewelry. She'd never thought much of the bond that Jenny and Frank had developed before they had reconciled, but she thought of it now, was haunted by it now. Barely a week before her and Frank decide to try again before she's told he's still under evil influence and Jenny, Jenny of all people swiftly gets her out of the way. 

But Jenny was trying to protect them.

But Jenny was trying to get rid of you, so she could have Frank.

Just like how Abbie was trying to get rid of you to have Ichabod.

She poisoned him against you before you had a fair shot

Their bond as witnesses is stronger than your marriage

Their bond as teammates is stronger than your marriage

Abbie and Crane

Jenny and Frank

Abbie and Craneabbieandcraneabbieandcrane

Jenny and Frankjennyandfrankjennyandfrank 

"Enough!" Cynthia bolted upright, sleep quickly fleeing her and sat heaving before she cursed and swung her feet out of the bed. 

**********************

Downstairs she rifled through the fridge for the milk. Turned on the light in the kitchen and screamed. "Damn it Bram," she huffed. "What are you doing creeping up on me?"

Bram's brows shot to his hairline. "I was already sitting here before you came in." he pointed out. "Unable to sleep?"

Cynthia poured the milk into a mug and put it in the microwave. Warm milk might help, she hoped it would.

"You have been looking poorly, as of late," he pressed, leaning forward. Bram himself was up contemplating his own troubles. That axe had been blazing for a week. And he didn't like that he was sure he knew what it meant. But he also wasn't convinced he should worry Cynthia with it yet, either. 

"I told you this stupid thing was keeping me up at night but you think me being trapped here isn't punishment enough," she snapped, surprised and infuriated by the feeling of tears welling in her eyes. She wasn't resting at all, and the more she slept with it the more the necklace tormented her with suspicion and insecurity, tangling Katrina's feelings and her own. During the day it was blissfully silent, but at night, it seemed to just get louder, and louder, until she feared it would drive her mad. 

Bram watched her, chest heaving, gasping, red eyed and distraught. 

"I hear her, I hear worrying about Crane, and their marriage, and you, I hear her fret about her child who didn't understand her, who drifted away from her, husband, child and---" like Frank, like Macey. Cynthia shuddered to think her life might be in some way mirroring Katrina's, that somehow her lonely, rejected path might become her own. She turned, still heaving and took her milk out of the microwave, blew on it, drank too quickly, burned her tongue. But it felt good, the burn at least distracted her from the torrent of feelings brewing inside her. "I can't sleep," she cried softly, hating herself for it. "I can't rest, I can't focus, and I'm going to be stuck here--your prisoner---and Macey will hate me, I'll lose Frank--"

Bram rose from the table, approached her settled his hands on her shoulders, ignored the way she cringed. "I will remove it, tonight, so that you may have peace, and in the morning I will put it back," His eyes peered into hers.

Cynthia snorted as she wiped her eyes. " Is that your idea of kindness?"

"It is my idea of mercy, however temporary." he said, reaching his hands around her neck Bram was the closest to her that he had been since he had first captured her that day in the woods. "Goodnight, Cynthia," he whispered before bringing the necklace up over her head and his face disappeared from view. 

Cynthia took in great gulps of air, feeling free and relieved, and allowed Bram, now silent and headless to escort her back to her room. It struck her once she was back inside that she should run. 

She was hit with the horror of what he was. A Waking nightmare, an unholy abomination, walking through the house. Had she really been subjecting Macey to seeing that all day everyday? it would drive any normal person insane. What sort of torture was she subjecting her daughter to, to watch that demon, to watch her mother interact with it as if it were human. She shivered from her head to toe. She should run and wake Macey, carry her if she needed to and get the hell away from the house, away from Bram---

The sound of a heavy thunk outside the door told her Bram had already suspected her train of thought and had staked himself outside of her door. 

"Damn him" Cynthia wrung her hands, and then decided, since he was making sure she couldn't get out, she would make sure he couldn't get in, and turned the lock. She imagined if she was still wearing the necklace, she would have heard him chuckle at her extra measures. She climbed back into bed and tentatively closed her eyes.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Cynthia slept.


	11. Chapter 11

In the morning, Cynthia gathered her clothing, intending to head for the shower but had forgotten headless Bram would be on the other side of her door. She yelped from the shock of it, face to face with the dried blood and fleshy stump of his neck before he reached around her, dropping the pendant back into place. When he stepped back his face came into view again, a small twinkle in his eyes. Cynthia was confused by the relief she felt from seeing his face again, she rationalized that anything besides those broad shoulders and no head would be a more welcome sight. "Good Morning," he said. Cynthia dared not breathe. He was still too close. He took two more paces backwards, allowing her room to sidestep him and head for the bathroom at the end of the hall. "Breakfast is ready, come down before it grows cold," he called.

Downstairs Cynthia paused outside of the kitchen and watched Macey digging into the food with gusto.

"She eats better when I'm not in the room," Bram whispered. "It's as if the sight of me makes her nauseas, I can't imagine why," he grinned evilly and Cynthia rolled her eyes. 

"The sight of you first thing in the morning would churn anyone's stomach. Headless or no," she snipped as she walked in and greeted her daughter.

"Morning mom," Macey smiled around a mouthful of eggs. 

"You're chipper this morning. Are you feeling alright?" Cynthia queried. 

Macey swallowed. "You're right, go back out and come in again and I'll do this brooding teenager thing better,"

Cynthia pursed her lips and gently scuffed her daughter up the backside of her head as she peered in the frying pan. "Not that I relish the idea of a hormonal storm cloud, but if there was ever a time for you to be angsty, our situation is it," Cynthia grabbed a plate. "Are these any good?"

"Surprisingly good, once you stop thinking that a monster prepared it, it's easier to enjoy. And when your mom doesn't wake up in time to make breakfast, my options became kinda limited."

Cynthia brought the plate over to the table and joined her daughter. She glanced up at the door way but Bram had already gone. " Is that your way of saying you want to learn to cook?"

"Maybe,"

"I'll teach you to cook if you teach me that spell you used on Deeds,"

"Why?"

"Because maybe I could give Bram a pumpkin head while he's around the house." 

Bram was only three paces away but he heard the joke, heard the Irving women snickering, and in spite of himself, he laughed too.

***********************

They were having a team meeting in the archive. "So Abbie tells me we've got a new playmate," Jenny began. 

Abbie nodded to Crane. "Tell'em Crane,"

"Oh is it story time with Crane?" Frank asked as he leaned on the table and folded his arms. Crane smirked.

"Is your idea of story time is ghost stories, then the idea would prove apt, Captain,"

"Well let me get myself settled in here," Frank said heaving himself up on top of the desk. "While we're at it, mention of some dried out bodies in Tarrytown too,"

Abbie's eyes widened. "What?"

"It is as I feared." Crane muttered. "Sacrifices" 

**********************

In his study Bram hefted the glowing axe, felt the thrum of power in it. He reminded himself he no longer had any drive for ending the world, that he would much rather end himself. He could still here the Irving women, one of them had discovered the room with the piano some days ago, and they had made a sort of game of tinkering with it, trying to make it play itself. He heard the out of tune sounding of keys and winced. These trifling little forays into their power wouldn't do. He feared the time was drawing near and if he didn't lay claim to humanity soon, he would be forced to turn to darkness once more. 

For good.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macey loses control, and there are consequences.

Wallabee Winthorp, Wally for short, was a popular guy, came from a good family, well loved, lorded his family wealthy over Toby when he came into the diner with his friends. "Hop to" "Come on boy, faster" he goaded. Toby tried to not be offended by being ordered around by the highschooler, but people like Wally had been getting their way their whole life, never having to worry about a roof over their head or food in their belly. Their world had never been rife with chaos and arguing and the general worry and frenzy that came from knowing there simply wasn't enough. So Toby tried to forgive Wally for being a spoiled youth. Tried to forgive him for leering at Macey while she finished her shake, and then, noticing her chair, scoffed and snickered to his friends.

"Never banged a wheelie before," he snorted. And Toby spat on his burger. He doubted someone like Wally would even know how to treat a human being normally. And if possible, Wally seemed to be getting worse. 

He lashed out at people in town. He was jumpy and easily irritated. He was rapidly going from a fun loving and beloved jock to an all around high strung brute. But no one knew why.

Except.

Except one day, horsing around with his friends, someone had dared Wally to go into the forest, to root around for the demon people had been whispering about for the past two weeks. The one they had claimed had stormed into the square, kidnapped a woman, who, might have been a witch, they whispered, and then vanished. And Wally never backed down from a dare. 

So in he went that day. Bold and brave, with a pocket knife on hand. Just in case. And of course he found exactly what he was looking for. Headless threatened Wally within an inch of his life. Bring food to the end of this clearing, twice a week, or else. And of course, flaming axe in hand and all, Wally obeyed. 

So that was the state of Wally's life in those last two weeks, he would meet with the frightening spectre twice a week, with groceries, and be reminded, repeatedly how close he was to losing his head. He would go back into town and over compensate for the horror he had witnessed. He was loud, boisterous, bossy. Even his friends thought he was overdoing it nowadays, but Wally couldn't tell anyone he was trying to cope. That he was expressing his terror and fear through cruelty and rambunctious antics. That every time it crossed his mind to tell someone, he felt his neck burn hot, and when he touched it, it came away with drops of blood. 

Wally was tortured, and woe be on anyone that crossed this young man haunted by a decapitated corpse, stalking him through the woods. 

"Hey, you, wheels," Wally called the following day. The day after he'd eaten the spit burger Toby had prepared for him. Macey glared from her spot at the table. Wally swaggered over. He was alone today. His friends had gone to class, like normal teenagers. Not like Macey, who lived with a demon. Not like Wally, who worked for the same one. If only they knew they had that one thing in common, malice might not come so easily to them.

"What," Macey snapped.

"Anyone ever show you around here proper? how about it, you give me a ride on your lap and I'll show you all the sights of Risen Hearth,"

"I'll pass," 

"Oh come on, I'd totally go out with you if it weren't for the chair. I'd still do ya too, if you ask nice,"

Macey pushed off from the table. Feeling something dangerous brewing in her. Something she wouldn't be able to control. Outside the diner there was mist, and then rain, heavy pounding rain. Toby sniffed the air, tasted discontent, tasted anger, tasted the salty water of a sea. He peered around the cafe, and his eyes landed on Macey, whose eyes, her eye's were turning white and Toby knew at that moment any minute now and she would---

a branch crashed through the diner window and knocked Wally flat on his back as he collided with a table, the waiting vase of flowers crashed over his head. People cleared out of the diner quickly, water beginning to leak through the ceiling. He snarled at her as he staggered to his feet. "You're not natural," he hissed, though still winded, and soaked, a cut on his brow, petals on his shoulders. "A girl my age who can't walk, this town is full of odd cripples, you, and then there's---" he choked, feeling that burning sensation around his neck again. 

"Stay away, Wally," Macey warned, the whole floor of the diner was soaked, and her eyes shone like white orbs, glowing with eerie light.

"Or what?" he spluttered, lunging after her and grasping the handles of her chair. He was face to face with her now, and Macey could see that deep in his eyes was fear. Something haunted. "Or you'll take my--" he choked again as the burning intensified, and Macey screamed when she saw red welling up across his neck. Wally looked at her with haunted eyes "Do you see?" he pleaded, the gash blossoming more before her. "I can't tell anyone," he rasped and then ran from the diner and watery wreckage, clutching at the wound on his neck that had already healed, it was just a reminder after all. That his head was forfeit if a secret he could not keep. 

Macey drew deep breaths and then the storm calmed. But the diner was beyond repair. It would be closed for a while now, she was sure of it. She shivered all over, completely drenched. Toby threw a customers discarded jacket around her shoulder, but his eyes were on the retreating back of Wally as he staggered down the main street. He'd heard them talking. He'd seen the ghostly wound that had appeared on Wally's neck.

Wally had always thought he was better than everyone, anyway.

He met Macey's eyes and she swallowed, knowing what was coming next but dreading it all the same. 

"You're a witch, aren't you," 

****************************

The next day Wally's shrivelled up body was found ten paces from the drop off point where he usually met Headless with the groceries.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at the house when Macey gets home.

Cynthia studied her daughter as she helped her prepare dinner. Macey was never overly talkative, but there was something distinctly changed about her since she had got back home. Cynthia knew all about Macey sneaking back into town. She couldn't blame her, no sane teenaged girl would willingly coop herself up in the house, much less with a demon in it. And before, while she'd worry, mildly, she'd never had cause for concern. Macey was usually in decent spirits in the afternoons, a little easier to laugh, a little less gloomy, but, there was a fog shrouded around her daughter this evening. It had come in the house with her, bringing a thunderstorm that had been raging since she'd returned. Cynthia wanted to ask about it, what had troubled Macey for her energy to behave so unruly, but every time she began the conversation Macey's eyes would water and she'd clam up. 

"You have to tell me, if something, wrong, happened today in town, Macey. Macey are you listening?" 

Macey nodded quietly. She wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure exactly what she wanted to say. She kept replaying the desperate look on Wally's face, how is throat had opened up as if cut, bleeding, how he had ranted about other....'odd cripples' in town, that he couldn't tell anyone....something. She willed herself not to shiver as she shook the salt in the pot of soup. She tried to forget the overwhelming electricity that had coursed through her in her anger, that had turned her fury into a tempest, and then, deserted her, leaving her cold and alone in the chaos she had wrought. Yet, she kept coming back to Wally, his eyes pleading for understanding, and the way he had careened out of the diner like a wounded animal. 

She tried not to wonder how Toby knew what she was. And whether or not that meant she was in danger. If they were in danger. "Nothing's, wrong," Macey forced out. "I think the soup is almost finished,"

After dinner Macey had gone to her room, still contemplating the events of the day.....and if Wally had a more significant connection to her life than she knew. She'd never get a chance to ask him that, though. The possibility of another encounter would die before the crack of dawn the following morning. 

Cynthia cleaned up in the kitchen alone, doing the dishes. 

"How's Macey doing?" 

Cynthia startled and dropped the plate she was holding. It shattered into big uneven chunks. 

"Damnit Bram," she reached down for a shard and threw it at the space where his head would be. He merely smiled at her as it sailed right through the air of his face, striking the wall the behind him. "I cannot even count how many times you have spooked me in this damn house!"

He laughed. "So you think it best to begin throwing the dinnerware?"

Cynthia rolled her eyes and in spite of herself laughed with him. She watched as Bram sauntered in and peered into the leftovers of the pot of soup. Cynthia sneered. "Would you like some?"

"That is a cruel invitation to make, given my current predicament," and he had the nerve to look wounded as he said it. "It's poor form to jest about a man's.....impairments,"

"I think impairment is an understatement, Bram," she continued to laugh and saw the way his eyes lit up with an answering smile. And for a moment Cynthia lost track of time. 

How long have we been here? she wondered. It could be days, it could be months. How did we get here? she thought, listening to her laughter dancing in the air with Bram's. Where had the fear gone? There was anger still, yes, there was a sort of recurrent horror every single time she remembered what he was, but the shortness of breath and surety that he would hurt her, the utter terror of the first day they'd met, that had subsided. Now there was merely a begrudging annoyance at him putting her in this very very odd situation. Bram came over to the sink beside her, started drying the dishes she'd washed and putting them away. She chose not to question him. Four hands were better than two.

"Something's bothering her," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on her hands working over the dishes with sponge and soap. "She won't tell me though, and I suppose that's normal for her age, but, nothing about our lives is normal anymore," she added pointedly. Bram pretended not to notice. " Besides which, I'm concerned about her not being in classes, she should be thinking about college next year, but....I can't, I can't risk her having some sort of accident in a highschool. I'm sure that's what happened to her today, that storm outside, it feels just like her, my little girl." She huffed and blinked back a tear. "My little girl not so little anymore, oh," she turned from the sink and wiped her eyes.

"Frank used to sing her to sleep," she said absently. Bram kept drying soundlessly, letting her talk. "Used to tuck her in, when she small, and helped her with her homework, every single damn night no matter how old she got. She didn't need him anymore by the time she was 11, but, I think she looked forward to him just, being around. I don't know when that changed," releasing a sigh she sat down heavily at the table. 

"Do you think your family could be repaired?" 

"I used to have an answer for that," Cynthia choked. "I don't anymore,"

*****************************

"What we're dealing with here, my friends," Crane placed his palms on the table. "Is Famine,"

***************************

"Come again?" Irving whispered. Jenny swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry Frank,"

"You're sorry! you damn well are sorry Jenny I told you keep them safe, and now you've lost them?!" he shrieked incredulously. 

"They were supposed to keep in touch, I went to check out the town, and no leads but I will find them Frank," Jenny vowed and Frank whirled on her and gripped her arm. 

"They are the closest thing I have left to what my life was, before, I need to know there's still a chance at before, Jenny. That there can be a life that isn't this."

Jenny blinked back tears. She could see the way this news hurt Frank, was tearing him up bit by bit. "Frank you know I would never, never do anything to hurt you," She gripped his collar tightly in her hands. This was a dangerous place to be, her heart warned. With his family missing, and her own heart raging, and now Famine turning up, this was the wrong time to be telling Frank Irving she'd never hurt him. That she cared so much about whether or not she did. This was a stupid place to be, she thought, as Irving's eyes bore into hers, cold and steely, demanding still how she could have managed to LOSE two people. His eyes that were shifting towards anger, shifting towards hopelessness, seeking comfort. 

She would give it.

If Frank Irving ever asked her, Jenny would oblige him. She would twine around him and hold him while he sobbed. She would fold herself up into his lap and console his heart with kisses. She'd mop his damn tears with her hair. 

If he ever dared to ask her, Jenny would help him condemn what remained of his life 'before' and create an 'after' 

She wanted to ask if he loved her, still. If Cynthia was back would they pretend their own, 'bond' was forgettable? Surely he felt something too? Surely he knew that Cynthia had abhorred his work ethic while Jenny would embrace it. That Cynthia was now something beyond his understanding, but Jenny was still a corporeal human being. Surely Cynthia would understand that Jenny respected her, and had never once wanted to be 'that woman' 

Jenny needed comforting. 

But if she asked Frank, would he give it?


	14. Chapter 14

Macey left the house early that morning, intending to track down Toby and explain the events of the previous day. But those thoughts vanished when she almost rolled right into Wally's body on the path. 

She froze. 

Terror was climbing up her throat but she dare not make a sound, dare not squeak, her stomach churned. Had she done that? who had done that? how? Macey turned and urged her chair forward as quickly as she could manage. 

**************************

Risen Hearth was swarming with police by 11 am, investigating the.....strange death of Wallabee Winthorp. The locals were all clamouring about the freak storm that had struck the diner the day before, had mentioned seeing him "talking to a pretty girl"

"name?"the officer scribbled in his book. 

"don't know it" 

"Describe her,"

"dark curly hair, a wheelchair,"

"Anyone dislike him?"

"Everyone disliked Wally in the last week,"

"Who worked at the diner?"

"George is the owner, over there, that's Jane and Rich, they cook, Mary is waitress, Suzy too and Toby---oh, never mind Toby ain't over there"

The officer counted the faces all huddled around the ruin of the diner, peered across to the fenced off area where Wally's body was found. "Toby who?"

the woman shrugged. "Nobody spoke to Toby much,"

Later the officer caught up to one of his old classmates. "You knew Wally?"

"Yeah, best quarterback of all time, I'll miss him,"

"He seem strange to you?"

"Strange officer?"

"Folk around here say he wasn't so likeable the past couple of days,"

"He went in the woods a while back, couple of weeks, maybe? Fellas dared him to hunt down the demon in there, he wasn't right since,"

"Did he go in?"

"Winthorps never back down from anything, Officer. So hell yes Wally went in,"

"No one else went with him?"

"No. Say he came back spooked. Been talking to himself and half choking when he tried to speak to anyone,"

"You know a Mr. Toby used to work at that diner?" the officer nodded over his shoulder.

"Knew of him, but not personally. I heard about the flood over at the diner though, nasty mess." 

"But no one has seen Toby,"

"Nope."

"Know anything about a girl?" he asked one of the other waitresses later. 

"Wanna try being more specific?" she popped her gum. 

"Girl with dark curly hair, wheelchair? people say they saw Wally talking to her before the storm struck the diner,"

"oh! Yes, I used to see her here, often. I heard Wally and his friends teasing her the other day and Toby spat on his burger, oops" she clapped her hands over her mouth. 

"What do you know about Toby?"

"Sir?"

"Or the girl?"

She paused for a moment, tapping her chin with her finger thoughtfully. "Nothing much about neither, to be honest. Toby wasn't friendly, and he was the only one I know of used to serve that girl."

********************************

Macey was still holding back her scream when she was back on the property, letting herself back in the house and began prowling the halls. Something was wrong. very wrong. She remembered Wally's eerie wound, his raving--but it was impossible, how on earth would he have encountered Headless? 

Her mind was whirling as she passed room after room. There had to be something around here, something in this house that would give her the answers she sorely needed. It was one thing to live with a headless horseman who claimed he wanted help committing suicide. It was another thing entirely if he was killing again. It meant she wasn't safe. Her mother wasn't safe, and they needed to get the hell out of---Bram came out of a room right in front of her. He paused, watching horror shine in her eyes. She hadn't looked at him with that kind of fear, ever. Wordlessly, he stepped around her and continued out of the house. Macey watched him go, the lumbering body with no cranium attached and waited until she heard the front door shut before she let herself into the room he had just left.

The first thing Macey noticed was the glowing axe, pulsing in the corner. 

She thought about the gash appearing on Wally's neck. 

His withered body lying at the foot of the path that led to their house. Wally had been tormented, but why? She moved around the room, quietly, carefully, when the axe flared to life, a golden edge of flame dancing along the metal. Her eyes locked on it. Against her better judgement, Macey reached for the axe, and felt her body flood with knowledge. 

He had threatened Wally to bring them food, run errands.

But that didn't explain why he had killed him.


	15. Chapter 15

Half way down the hill Bram realized he had left his axe behind, and his study unlocked. He thought to turn back but decided against it. Wallabee would surely start weeping in fear if Bram wasn't there soon. Besides, after the first two meetings and the spell he had effected on him, Bram had seldom had need to bring the axe to menace Wally with anymore. As he neared their designated meeting place however, he heard a commotion. Sirens. Chatter. Dragging of cables and clattering of equipment. He paused in the woods, listening. He knew that sound. It was the sound of investigation, photographers and interviews and cops he took one step forward and then heard a branch creak behind him. Bram turned, reaching for his pistol. A man emerged from the bushes, standing with his hands up in surrender. 

"Don't go down there," he warned. Bram cocked his head to the side, though the man couldn't see it. 

The man nodded his head towards the noise. "They found a body. Your errand boy, probably?" 

Bram drew his pistol, aiming at him. The boy continued calmly. "listen, they're calling that a murder. They're naming names down there, and if you show up, they're gonna think it's you. And if not you, the young witch that's living at your house,"

Bram's face would have registered shock, if it were visible to this calm informant. He slowly lowered his gun. 

**************************

"I've got pine needle, violets, a spider web, and ugh, this," Abbie waved the bag of oozing dark sludge. "Is this enough to summon the kindred?"

"Can't summon it," Crane exhaled, running his fingers through his hair. "It's too track it. We'll have to swallow---"

"Hell no, you did not say I'm going to drink this muck," 

"We both are, Miss Mills," Crane said calmly, although failing to hide his own grimace at the prospect. "We need to become one with the kindred, so to speak," he shuddered. "That means ingesting a compilation of the things that created him, thereby, our senses will become attune to its....whereabouts"

Abbie took a deep breath. "Well go on, mix that up then, put an umbrella in it and let's get this over with,"

Crane gave her a rueful smile. "Is this what they call, 'Happy Hour'?"

*************************

"So why are we here gathering intel about Famine?" Irving asked as he dumped another book on the table. "Given the fact Crane swallows books whole, shouldn't research be his department, and we go after the kindred? the hell do they need the kindred anyway?"

Jenny rifled through papers in a box, put that one away and flipped through a file "Because they think Headless," she withdrew one sheet that seemed to have pertinent information, aligning it with another pile she was compiling. "Might be contemplating rehabilitation, but they wanna be in control of it, so when they restore him, light outs," she flicked her gaze up to meet his. "Permanently"

"Ah,"

"I'm thinking of heading back out there tonight," 

"Where?"

"Risen Hearth, to look for them. Maybe someone will have info on them by now."

Irving shook his head and turned on the radio on one of the desks. He took a moment adjusting it, the frequency crackling when a well rehearsed new's anchor voice piped into the room. 

"A shrivelled up corpse found in Risen Hearth. Young Wallabee Winthorp was last seen at the Rise and Shine Diner yesterday afternoon, talking with a young woman with dark curly hair in a wheelchair. Locals say the two were having a dispute before a storm hit and Wallabee left. He was found dead, this morning," 

Irving turned his eyes up to the ceiling. " Lord no. No no no. Jenny please tell me that woman on the radio did not just describe my baby girl in connection with a murder."

Jenny stood up, went over to Irving and rested a hand on his shoulder. "That woman on the radio did not just describe your baby girl in connection with a murder" she recited, sighed wrapped her arms around him. "But we should go and investigate how this possible look a like is involved,"

************************

"Mom!" Macey yelled as she backed out of Bram' study, shutting the door forcefully and then searching the halls for her mother. She heard water running in the kitchen, so that's where she went. "Mom, Headless killed a boy," she began as she turned the corner into the room but paused at the sight in front of the kitchen sink.

"Toby?"


	16. Chapter 16

"Toby?" Macey gasped, "what are you doing here--" Forgetting herself, she pushed up out of the chair, lunging for him, and then crashing to the floor, her legs failing her, Macey was reminded of her state. After so long, there were still embarrassing moments like these, when an event moved her to action, in which she forgot that her legs won't hold her up, that they crumble underneath her and reveal her weakness for all who are present to see. The jolt of the floor erased her questions and brought tears to her eyes. Toby knew she had the chair, true, but it was another thing for him to see how immobile she was without it. She grit her teeth, as she tried to push herself up, knowing she was only managing to flail more pathetically on the floor when Toby moved swiftly hooked his arms under hers, heaved her up and settled her back in the chair. Her face was red from the whole ordeal, and she stared past his head. "Why are you here," she tried again. She would ignore that she was only a second ago sprawled on the floor in a helpless heap. Toby met her eyes. She'd never noticed the colour of them before. They're brown, but with a speckle of gold in them. 

"I came here to protect you,"

Macey snorted, pushing her chair away from him. 

"Macey," He gripped the chair and pulled it back. She bristled. Her chair was a part of her body now, whether she liked it or not. And having him touch it, unbidden was like him directly making contact with her. No matter that he had just helped her back in the chair--his help then, too, had not been invited. Her nostrils flared. She might have considered Toby an acquaintance in town, someone to chit chat too, but here, in this house, she faced the fact that he remained a stranger. Seeing the flash of disapproval in her eyes he dropped his hands from the chair. "Listen. People in town are saying you're the last one who saw Wally alive. I stopped the horseman from going down there and causing a stir. But I'm worried someone might try to investigate up here,"

"How could you have known? how did you know?" she demanded.

"Wally wasn't exactly quiet yesterday," he hissed. "Everyone in town has noticed how weird he's been acting for a week, and only a damn fool would ignore the fact that you flooded the place yesterday," 

Macey shrank away from him. "I still don't get why you're still here, you've warned me, why would Headless bring you here? Besides, I'm sure he killed Wally."

"What need does a creature that decapitates have to suck a human body dry?" he retorted. Macey's heart raced. Toby's logic was sound. Someone else had done this. Someone else out there was as dangerous as Headless, if not more so.

**************************

"You wanna tell me why I'm out here in the stable with you and Deeds instead of inside the house with my daughter, who you left with a complete stranger, might I add, what's going on?" Cynthia leaned on the wall of Deeds stall, he chuffed and nuzzled her hand. After letting Toby into the house, Bram had motioned for him to wait in the kitchen while he explained things to Cynthia. Like why he had brought Toby back with him. Like why there wouldn't be groceries today. Like why he'd been battling a horrible feeling brewing inside him for over a week. He summoned his axe and it materialized in his hand. Cynthia's gaze flickered to the weapon, glowing with power, the edge gilded in flame. "It's a little late to start brandishing that thing at me, don't you think?" 

Bram growled with frustration, twirled it in his hands once and then thrust it below her neck. Cynthia leaned away from it, still completely unphazed. Bram snarled. "Do you think yourself beyond fear?" 

Cynthia looked down at the blade. "You wouldn't do it."

"Try me,"

"You brought me out here to talk, didn't you? not see if you can frighten me?"

Bram scowled. Not that long ago his presence meant fear and death. Now Cynthia just looked mildly irritated with him. He huffed and lowered the axe. "A boy was found dead today." Cynthia's gaze flashed and Bram was quick to defend. "It was not me, Cynthia. The young man I terrorized into bringing the necessities, his body was found this morning at our meeting place. The boy inside, he stopped me from encountering the media mob that is down there but Cynthia I, I fear...." he broke off here and looked away, stepping away from her his gaze fixed on the axe. "The way this blazes......I fear another horseman has risen."

Cynthia felt fear then. She instantly broke into a sweat. 

"And I fear, that Macey, is in danger," 

Cynthia's legs gave way from underneath her. Bram hooked an arm around her waist to keep her upright, but Cynthia had practically gone limp with shock. "Why? Why Macey? No, Bram, No, she's all I've got," the tears spilled freely and she continued to sink to the ground, taking Bram with her. 

"The boy tells me people are saying Macey was the last one who saw the boy--Wally---alive," 

"Is he coming here? what does he want?"

Bram strengthened his hold on Cynthia. "I vowed to protect you and your daughter when you agreed to come here," he said. "I keep my vows" 

Cynthia leaned into the comforting embrace and his words. Beggars can't be choosers, after all.

*******************************

The car sputtered and ground to a halt. Frank cursed. "What now?"

"It's stalled," Jenny said sadly. She slammed the steering well, letting out a muted honk and then bowed her head. "We'll have to wait for help," 

"I can't believe this," Frank groaned and Jenny felt herself shrivel inside. "I need to get there Jenny, Macey can't go through this again and I'm not there to protect her, she can't---"

"Listen to me Frank," Jenny said turning to face him. "You have always been there for Macey, and you will continue to be, we will find them Frank, we will, I swear it," she said holding his face between her hands. "We will find them," Frank gazed at her steadily and Jenny started to move her hands away when Frank reached up for them.

"I have, I do, I love Cynthia," he said. Jenny's heart constricted. "I will always love her," he pressed on. "She's the mother of my child.I want to make it work. But, it won't be easy Jenny," he looked away and then back at her. "It won't be easy,"

She wanted to ask Why, Frank? what would make it so hard? when Frank released a shuddering breath. "God, when did I become Ichabod Crane?"

Jenny looked at him with confusion. "What do you mean Frank?"

He sighed and then laughed, but it was without mirth. "A witch for a wife, a marriage I desperately want to repair," He held her gaze, held her hands in his even tighter. "And a Mills girl in my heart"


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter is a lil messy, I just really need to get it out of the way.

Jenny stared at Frank.

Frank stared at Jenny.

They waited for CAA

***********************  
"I'm not getting any positive feedback over here Crane," Abbie complained. It had been nearly three hours since they had ingested the tracking concoction, and all it had managed to do was make her feel very sick.

Crane winced and held up a finger. "I apologize, Miss Mills, I must have misread---" his eyes widened as he watched Abbie suddenly double over and begin vomiting mud, great big dirt clods, twigs, she stood and kept heaving as bits of sludge and then finally a worm fell from her mouth. She sat back down, eyes wide in terror, and only a moment passed before Crane threw up a pile of leaves.

"No fair," Abbie wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Why did I get the mud shake and you got the foliage?"

Crane burped another leaf and grimaced. "I believe the potion acts to connect us with the Kindreds experiences, I suddenly feel very drawn to the woods,"

Abbie smirked "Is that supposed to be new?"

"Come on, Leftenant, we've got a kindred to track"

"The things I do to save the world," Abbie muttered, grabbing her coat off the hook.

***********************

"Explain why you came here," Cynthia demanded, looming over Toby in the kitchen. "Don't give me that, 'you're concerned about Macey crap either, Headless bought it but not me,"

Toby peered around the room, his eyes connecting with Macey's across the table, the figure of Headless at the door way. His eyes lingered on the glowing axe he carried casually over one shoulder. He felt heat creeping up his spine and he fought the urge to smile. 

At the door, Bram tasted decay, rust, and felt the pulsing heat growing stronger in the axe. Cynthia slammed her hand on the table.

"You will answer me," 

"Everyone in town knew Wally was giving Macey a hard time, she leaves the diner after trashing it, he turns up dead. You do the math. I thought I was doing her a favour" he smirked.

Macey cringed. 

"You've warned her now," Cynthia said coldly, advancing towards the table walking around to Toby, seated in the chair. "Why don't you go?"

"You're in need of another errand boy, aren't you?" he sneered. "Last one turned up dead. You won't easily find one willing to come up here again without suspicion. And what will you say then? That your daughter isn't a witch? that you aren't? that the cranium challenged goon over there isn't a menace?" 

"You're too clever," 

"I'm just here to help you and the creep as much as possible. I know you guys didn't dry out Wally, but we've no idea who did it, and you're the best shot Risen Hearth has at stopping whatever it is,"

"What are you suggesting?" Macey spoke up, her voice steady. 

"Team up, but first of all, I think he'd be of more use to us if he could talk, wouldn't he?"

"We're working on that, however we intend to dispatch him immediately afterwards."

Toby cocked his head to the side. "You need a 'spell' I guess"

Cynthia nodded, exchanging a glance with Bram "In a word,"

"I might have seen something, woman showed up around here the other day, carrying a huge book....it looked like the type of thing that would be....magical"

"This is preposterous" Bram huffed. "We're supposed to go hunting down what, a whim? we turn me back human, we....vanquish, the new horseman, and then I die a hero? a pretty fairytale I'm sure,"

"You got a better idea?" she snapped. 

*************************

Jenny and Frank spooked when Crane pressed his face to the door. 

"Jesus, Crane" Frank rolled down the window. 

"how the hell did you get out here?" Jenny asked.

Abbie appeared on the other side. "We were tracking the kin---" and spewed up a pile of dirt in Jenny's lap.

"Gross! what is wrong with you?"

"It's how we're tracking the kindred. We are tasting it's experiences, where is has walked, what it might have managed to....ingest, we were driving by when we saw your car stopped here."

"It stalled" Jenny explained. 

"Well come on," Crane urged. "We must continue while the trail is....hot,"

Abbie got back in the car and Crane followed after. Jenny and Frank looked at each other, the spell of the moment thoroughly broken.

But they wouldn't forget it, no. This was something they'd get back to. But they had to deal with supernatural dealings, first.


	18. Chapter 18

"Well do you see this, book?" Bram air quoted as he peered over Cynthia's shoulder. They were in the library and having found a basin and filled it with water, Cynthia was making her first attempt at scrying. Particularly, for this magic tome Toby claimed to have seen. 

"Nothing yet, Bram" she hissed over her shoulder. Repeating the description Toby had given them over and over. Ancient, grand, dark, forbidden--she probably should have asked Toby how he could know the book was "dark" and "forbidden" just by glimpsing it. But there would be time for those questions. In the meantime, Toby had gone out, promising he would return with their necessities. He would be their new, servant, she supposed. She watched the water swirl and cloud over, an image hovering on the edge. She scrunched her brow and whispered the words more fiercely, trying to remain calm. As far fetched as it sounded, this might be the one chance they had to restore Bram, defeat the new horseman, kill Bram, and win both hers and Macey's freedom. Then why was she so nervous about it? Why was her stomach churning? Her concentration splintered for just a moment, and the water, which was just beginning to solidify into a cool glassy surface, splintered down the middle. She swore. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Easy," Bram whispered. "You almost had it" he added encouragingly, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. Cynthia ignored the comfort she felt from it and tried again. This time the water snapped into stillness, and immediately an image began to unfurl. 

*********************************

"There it is!" Crane pointed enthusiastically. Sure enough, there was the Kindred, they'd been tracking it's unpredictable movements all night but at last, at the crack of dawn, it had decided to hunker down near a stream. 

"Do you suppose it remembers its creators?" Jenny queried.

Abbie pondered, "You mean that it should be obedient to us? I don't think so. Frankenstein turned on it's master, didn't it?" She drew her gun and aimed as they approached cautiously. "What's the plan, Crane?"

"We need only the head," Crane said, slowly drawing his rapier. Irving reached for his own gun. 

"It might put up a fight, don't you think?"

"Not if we time this right," Abbie said, the four of them edged closely and quietly up behind the monstrosity, bent over and drifting one of it's half rotted limbs in the waters. "What's it doing?"

Jenny smiled. "Looks like it's playing with the fish,"

Crane nodded, "An opportune distraction, to be sure, I suggest we move," 

And in a blur of movement the Kindred heard their approach, poised to attack, swung at Irving, knocked Abbie to the ground, and was advancing on Jenny when Crane, expertly, familiarly, severed it's head. The corpse fell, and Crane suffered an adrenaline laced sense of deja vu. It had all begun like this, a beheading. But he hoped this time it would serve to end something. Jenny retrieved the case Abbie and Crane had packed and deposited the head back inside it, while Crane helped Abbie and then Irving to their feet. 

"Job well done gang" Irving said. "Now, I think it's time we dealt with Famine, because while we've been chasing this puppet all night, our friend has been busy," Irving swept his arm to encompass the clearing that was just beginning to be illuminated by the morning sun, revealing four withered bodies, and the dead trees and greenery surrounding. 

"What's he trying to achieve?" Jenny asked. Abbie pursed her lips. 

"Famine, when food supplies are low, people fight, they horde, it causes general unrest, and of course, people die. He's draining these guys for power, most likely. And no doubt he'll be hoping to join up with his other headless brethren to finish the task they were set." She exchanged glances with Crane. "Therefore, we need to fix Headless, and end him, quickly, before those two become the gruesome twosome"

*********************************************

Jenny takes Frank home because Abbie and Crane have to figure out the next course of action as only the two witnesses can, storing the head and grimoire in the archives and frankly, because it was time her and Frank address what happened in the car. 

It was too early for nighttime confessions. For alcohol and the shadow of night. To hide in darkness and blame fear and cold and seek comfort and refuge. The sun is bright and unforgiving. It will expose every truth. So all that they say now, they had better be careful, and they had better mean it.

"Mills,"

"We need to find Cynthia and Macey, then you, we, then we figure this out. Then you decide what you want,"

Frank watched her steadily. Moved to the sink and got himself a glass of water. "You ever make a decision you dislike but you wouldn't take it back?"

Jenny swallowed hard. 

"We are divorced still, legally."

"That doesn't mean it'll make it any less complicated if you still love her and she loves you," 

"It doesn't make it any easier knowing I have feelings for you, either."

"Frank, I don't think it's a good idea. You're not thinking clearly."

"I am, Jenny. I am" he set the glass down and approached her slowly. "I know this is just another mess. But I can't think straight when I have unresolved things in my heart. I want to fix things so my family life isn't a mess, but maybe fixing things doesn't mean fixing my marriage. I won't lie to you and tell you I don't love her, Jenny, but I won't insult you by telling you I don't have feelings for you too, I can't have it both ways I know that. But I need some way, right now. I don't know if we have a chance to figure this out again. And I don't like living with what ifs. So," he stopped a breath away from her. "I'm going to kiss you, and you do whatever it is you want to stop me if this isn't what you want," he said, and then closed the gap between them, sealing their lips together.

Jenny wanted to hit him.

To slap him.

To bite him.

To push him.

To cry.

How could he do this to her?

She wanted to yell at him.

To shove him away and leave.

She did none of these things.

****************************************

Cynthia reeled away from the bowl in shock. The image shattered again with a shriek. Macey listened outside the door of the study to her mother sobbing. When she cracked the door she saw Headless turn her mother from whatever it was that had broken Cynthia's heart---whatever truth that had come to fruition while she had been scrying---whatever fear that had become reality---and into his arms, petting her hair. Macey thought she might know what troubled her mother's heart, and witnessing this moment of tenderness from that beast, Macey had the fleeting and terrifying hopeful thought that he might be the one to repair it.


	19. Chapter 19

"Crane?" Abbie looked back over her shoulder at Ichabod, his hands clasped, staring intently at the head floating in it's chamber where it sat on the desk. "Crane," she called more sharply.

"Hmm?"

"listen, we had a rough night, I still have the taste of dirt and crud in my mouth, let's get breakfast and catch a nap"

Crane huffed and looked back at the head.

Abbie nodded towards it. "You've also been staring at that thing so long I'm beginning to wonder if you're about to destroy it or make out with it,"

Crane wrinkled his nose. "Miss Mills, that is......" he screwed up his face, "Disgusting," he spat.

Abbie cracked a smile. "Anything to get you to snap out of it. Come on, what's bothering you? you've been staring at that thing since we got back,"

"This head belonged to my friend, Miss Mills, before, before things went so sour between us,"

"Correction, that head belonged to the monster the Hessians created, 'after' things went sour between you,"

Crane gave Abbie a withering glance. "Thank you for clarifying that fact,"

"Anytime,"

"What I mean is. I wonder, if this isn't all my fault. Abraham was not a violent man, Miss Mills, he was my friend. An explorer, a bit of a braggart, but good natured, true, he.....he was not the creature he became. And I did that. I gave him reason to become that. I wronged him, Miss Mills. And look what good it was to me, in the end."

Abbie put a hand on Crane's shoulder. "Crane, you can't do this to yourself. You might have done him a favour anyway. Katrina turned out to be a false hearted woman. She would have betrayed Abraham, regardless of whether or not you were in the picture."

"But the outcome might not have been the same," he said quietly. "But he made his bed, and he should lie in it. As I have lain in the bed of my own mistakes," 

**************************

Bram should have been unsettled by the ease with which he reached out to Cynthia lately. How easy, how natural it was to comfort her after what she had just seen in the basin. He didn't need to see it to understand. He had tasted betrayal. But Cynthia, with her head buried in his shoulder, face now dry, but shuddering slightly, she was new, to this. He tentatively smoothed her hair. Her tears had come and gone in a shocked spurt. Now she just kept murmuring over and over. "She's been there for him when I wasn't. " she sighed. Her arms hung limply by her side. 

"Your husband--" Bram started.

"Ex, husband" Cynthia groaned. "We were, are, still legally separated. There was just a brief moment, when he came back, that I thought we'd repair it again" she finally stepped out of Bram's grasp, shocked that she felt cold once no longer in his arms. "And then we found out Henry still had him in his clutches and.....here I am, waiting for them to come back for me once everything is 'all clear' and they're.....over there, falling in love," she huffed. Bram noted that there was no malice in her voice. No ill intent. Cynthia was already facing betrayal in a much healthier way than he had. She would not be driven to revenge as he had been. She seemed resigned to this turn of events, though he imagined it couldn't be easy for her. He admired her strength. 

"I'm.....sorry," 

Cynthia smiled sadly at him. "He said he still loves me, always would, just.....well he's developed feelings for her too. It happens." she shrugged, quickly dashing away a stray tear. There was once a time when crying in front of Bram brought her shame and anger. Showing that kind of weakness infuriated her.But, tears no longer seemed like such a precious secret to keep anymore. It showed her humanity more than anything, and she would embrace that, witch or no witch, she had a human heart, and it still got hurt. "Thank you," she said quietly, and the air left the room. Bram stood stock still. If she was thanking him for what he thought, for holding her just now, that would be an acknowledgment that something had changed, that she had even appreciated it. "For comforting me," she finished, her back still turned to him. There it was. 

Bram turned her towards him, noticed she moved fluidly, she didn't fight or tense or resist anymore the way she once would. She met his gaze steadily even as he gripped her chin. He pulled her slightly closer.

"Frank Irving is a fool to dally with Miss Jennifer Mills," he whispered. "Do not be grieved by it,"

Letting her go, Bram strode from the room. Cynthia waited for the door to whisper shut behind him before burying her face in her hands. Her heart thudded steadily, where moments before it's erratic beating had mirrored how distraught she felt about Frank and Jenny. She did however, have a headache, a dull sort of pain that felt like something splitting. Something shattering. Something like clarity. 

And she didn't want to think about what that might mean. Not, yet.


	20. Chapter 20

Abbie and Crane paused at the market. Noting the absolute disarray. The mob. The yelling. The pushing. Whipping out her badge Abbie advanced through the crowd with Crane following behind her. Jenny and Irving were already there, standing closer than usual near the front and creating a sort of barricade. 

"What's going on here?" 

Frank nodded towards the mob. "Crop died over night. It's all over the news. They're calling this a drought season, and these folk are going into a frenzy for food," he looked at Abbie and Crane meaningfully. 

"News anchor just called this the 2015 Famine,"

*************************************

"Not a week after the Death of Wallabee Winthorp, the Winthorp farm was found desecrated this morning, the crops have died, and his family found dead, in much the same manner as young Wally. The Winthorp farm has been a prosperous family business that has kept them well off and has been a large resource of food for residents of Risen Hearth. With the weather drier than usual, neighbouring farmers worry that their fields will suffer the same fate. Now is the time to stock up on non perishables," Cynthia listened to the broadcast carefully on the radio, and then her gaze slid to the suspiciously abundant amount of fresh produce Toby had just thrown on the kitchen table.

"You clean the grocer out this morning?" she asked, nodding toward the pile that Macey was helping Toby put away.

Toby shrugged his shoulder. "Got lucky I guess, we'll be stocked up for a while," he said stacking away another large amount of canned goods. Macey watched Toby out the corner of her eye. The way his nimble, long, strong fingers quickly filed the groceries away. The way he smiled when he thought no one was looking. The way Toby seemed......broader than when she had first met him. Taller. Like he was having some sort of late onset growth spurt. The way he didn't even flinch when the news anchor had mentioned that the remaining Winthorps had been found dead that morning. 

***************************************

"Alright calm down people," Irving instructed the mob. "Single file line please!" he called and the people angrily muttered and shuffled into place. 

Abbie exchanged a glance with Crane. "You've been awfully quiet, considering," she said, calmly ushering through one patron after another. Jenny was helping to calmly distribute the goods. 

"Famine is riding, Miss Mills," Crane said out the corner of his mouth. "That's what all of this is, and he's gaining power in earnest. He will be looking to track down Abraham and convince him to join forces again and carry on with their wicked deeds. And we cannot allow it." He met her gaze. "I doomed Abraham once before, I will not do it again."

*********************************

"We need to talk about how we're going to get your head back," Cynthia started as she entered Bram's study.

Bram turned away from the window he was staring out of, looking over his shoulder at her. The necklace looked different, he noted absently. Less green and more red. He tasted the magic in the air, smelled the earth, tasted the sweetness of honey. Cynthia had grown into her power, more than she had realized. Just as well, because he knew, with every fibre of his person, that Famine was now riding, and would be looking for him. He could feel the other horseman's presence in his bones. 

"Bram?" she called again.

"I think we'd better leave tonight," he said. "While there's still an uproar, we'll take Deeds to Sleepy Hollow. Hopefully, they'll be busy," 

"What about Macey?"

"She'd better stay here. She won't be able to out run Famine if he finds us out there,"

"And Toby?" Cynthia asked, not impressed at the idea of leaving the two of them alone.

"If Macey wrecked that diner, I think she can handle Toby. She's strong, ill tempered, like her mother," he smiled. Cynthia cocked a brow at him.

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Take it how you will," he quipped, turning back to the window when he heard Cynthia snap her fingers. 

When he looked at his reflection in the glass he saw that Cynthia had bestowed him with a giant grinning jack-o-lantern for a head. "I see Macey taught you that spell,"

Cynthia folded her arms and smiled back at him. "Take it how you will" she mocked and left to go get changed.

Bram turned his new pumpkin head this way and that. "Cynthia, this isn't permanent, is it?"

**********************************

"Hey Macey, you wanna get some fresh air later?" Toby asked. 

Macey looked up from her book. 

"Sure,"


	21. Chapter 21

"So where are you going? Alone? with Headless?" Macey asked her mother as she magically pulled a jacket and scarf from the closet for Cynthia. Cynthia harrumphed as she tied her hair up.

"I'm going to investigate that book your 'friend' there had a hunch about. With Bram," she corrected.

"And you're hoping the book will tell you....." Macey gestured vaguely. Cynthia huffed again as she took the proffered scarf and tied it around her neck. It was strangely chilly for this time of year and Bram had already warned her they'd be taking Deeds into Sleepy Hollow. Lord only knew how long that trip would take on horseback. Just thinking of it made her stomach churn. It could easily be an hours ride, if not more. She'd teleport them there if that was something in her skill set. As luck would have it, teleportation was not. 

"Hopefully anything useful so we can stop whoever killed the Winthorps, and what's also killing the crops and working towards driving the town to starvation. And then....we.....we help....Bram---"

"Commit suicide," Macey answered and Cynthia winced. Macey frowned. If she had had it in her power on that first day, she would have put Bram out of his misery. But time does strange things to people, and even though he was still a lumbering headless, creep, to Macey, she'd started to see the humanity, or what remained of it, in his gestures. It was amazing how much body language said. And it had spoken volumes the other night when she'd seen Headless embrace her mother. He stopped being just a monster then. He started being something else. 

Cynthia stuck her arms through the trench and turned towards Macey. "You think I'm dressed warm enough?"

Macey passed her gaze over her mother. Her still strong, still beautiful, and still nervous, mother. With her dark hair swept up, and the cotton scarf in charcoal around her neck, the navy blue trench. Simple jeans and shirt underneath, but her mother looked really pretty. Disarmingly pretty. A sort of innocent clean swept pretty that Cynthia rarely ever had a chance to be. In the city, when her mother was always busy to and fro to the office it was always her proper starched, impeccable tailored suits, pinstripe and collared crisp shirts, pencil skirts, pant suits, woven dresses, large belts, heels and accessories and something very....business glam. Very age appropriate. This.....magical venture garb her mother wore.....made her seem younger, lighter. Like she could go adventuring, like she might be on the brink of something dangerous, but didn't care. And that was the truth of the matter. Her mother had always been strong, made the tough decisions. But brave?

Macey had watched her mother grow brave. Watched her battle with herself to master her power, watched her bicker and oppose a flaming axe wielding demon for Heaven's sake---she'd watch her mother be brave enough to show pain to that very monster---and now brave enough to go out on what might call a fools errand, but anything, anything to be doing something, towards stopping the new menace in town. 

"Macey?"

"You look nice, mom"

Cynthia's face faltered. "I was going for practical."

"Same thing,"

"Macey?"

"What did you see?" Macey cut her off. "In the basin? I spied on you and I saw---"

"Oh," Cynthia's face coloured. Had that only been a day ago? When she had been so shocked by watching the father of her child seek comfort in Jenny's arms? When she had felt Bram's strong hand turn her away from the sight, shielding her from it, and had let her murmur her hurt and pain into his shoulder?

Only a day ago when he had drawn her close and whispered while peering into her eyes? She tried to ignore the words he said, the way they seemed to cut into something in her brain, like an incantation. Just thinking of that moment felt like something breaking apart. Like stonework cracking. Like light through clouds. 

"It was dad, wasn't it" Macey supplied, already knowing the answer.

"Nothing we couldn't have seen coming a mile away," Cynthia sighed, sitting down on the bed and grabbing Macey's hand in her own. "I like Jenny,"

"I do too, just," here Macey met her mother's eyes. Saw the water gathering in them, spilling over, and Cynthia let them. No more hiding. She reached up and wiped them away. "I hate seeing you hurt, mom. I know you wanted to work things out,"

"Sometimes the things we want, aren't what we get. But the things we need, sweetheart, they always find a way to us."

Macey smiled at Cynthia. "Well, go on, go hunt down a magic book,"

***********************************

The sun was just beginning to set as Cynthia made her way out to the stables. Bram was getting Deeds ready, and then suddenly seemed to have forgotten where he had hung his coat. Cynthia reached for it at the door and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned reaching for it but Cynthia merely held it out for him, letting him slide his arms through the sleeves, she marched around him, straightened the collar and then smirking, rapped his pumpkin head smartly thrice before it disappeared. Bram smiled down at her.

"You're getting very good at that," he said with approval. 

"How could you miss your coat hanging right there?"'

"The pumpkin obscured my vision, if you'd believe it. You ready?" Cynthia hefted her bag and nodded. She followed Bram as he led Deeds out and then Cynthia truly grasped the fact that she would be riding with Bram. It only really registered, just then, that she would have to sit behind him and hold on. For a long time. She groaned inwardly. 

"Ladies first?" Bram asked but Cynthia shook her head. "Come on," he extended his hand and Cynthia took it as he led her to the foothold, she grabbed the top of the saddle and swung herself up, after two failed attempts, during which Bram failed not to laugh. At last settled, Bram swung himself up in front of her, and Cynthia shuffled backwards to give him room, leaning back and as far away as possible. Bram looked over his shoulder at her, his brow furrowed in concern.

"You alright?"

Cynthia nodded wordlessly. 

"We'll be going fast. I advise you hold on," 

Shivering from head to toe, Cynthia leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, loosely. Bram chuckled and she felt him rumble. 

"You're going to fall off, I promise you. Tighter, unless you're not all that attached to your life?" he sneered and Cynthia swatted his back before locking her arms around him, leaning her head on his back. This felt too close. And he felt too warm. Should something dead be warm? she wondered absently. "Better," he said, and with a swift kick, they were off. 

Cynthia only hoped she wouldn't be sick. 

******************************

Ivy and Len Winthorp had two sons, Jack the oldest, was to take over the farm. Wallabee, the youngest, they had hoped he'd get a scholarship somewhere, be the first of their bunch to go to college. And the middle one, who helped work the farm and had no academic aspirations whatsoever, their daughter, Kayla, she hoped to marry someone who didn't see past her cornflower hair and green eyes and go live anywhere, that wasn't Risen Hearth. She'd set sight on her english teacher. Hoped he might be convinced to.....forget, he had a wife, perhaps. But Kayla would have to put her scheming on hold since the household was in mourning. 

The Winthorps were well off, considering they knew bugger all about business, but they knew the right people, charmers, all of them, and conniving when need be, but they were real salt of the earth types. Couldn't pronounce half the words on the financial reports if asked to, but Len was broad built and only a fool would willingly try to swindle a man who kept a shot gun in the house and pistol on his belt, at all times. Even shark faced Ivy was said to brandish the kitchen knife at you if you didn't like her scones, and dared say so, while over for tea. Jack was a brute force type, and Kayla a meanspirited flirt, but of all of them, Wally had been the most tolerable. Until his final days. The family knew it. They'd lost the only one of them people might accidentally call "nice". 

Hell, Risen Hearth new it. They'd had a non stop string of visitors since his body had been found. And Len was making a mighty ruckus down at the station to find out what was going on. Overturned a desk demanding to know who the hell this girl they saw his boy talking to before he died was. Where was she? And the waiter who had since disappeared? 

"No leads, sir," 

"Haven't seen her since,"

"Don't know her name, Mr. Winthorp, sir,"

"Toby? boy vanished the same day. Might be dead too, for all we know,"

Enraged, Len was doing his own investigating at night. Spooking Kayla and her english teacher in a parked car near the theatre. Scaring a drunk stumbling home from an evening of libations. Interrupting hushed conversations in the alleys as he lumbered through town, hand on his pistol, knife in his jacket. He wanted blood for his boy, and if the police couldn't do anything about it, he was going to get it.

Boy, was he going to get it. 

Another fruitless night of searching for answers, and finding no one worthy of his rage, Len started making his way home to the farm. When he heard hooves. 

A chuffing sound.

A whiny. A roar. And Len looked over his shoulder, and saw a great cloaked figure riding atop a white ash coloured horse, with onyx eyes, strong, mighty, and it was coming at him, and fast. 

Len ran. 

Len ran like hell, screaming, screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs. But everyone had gone home. Everyone had drawn their blinds. Nobody in their right mind wanted to hear nor see what had Len Winthorp of all people so riled up at 3 in the morning. He tore his way home, hearing the galloping,feeling his hair stand on damn end. He tumbled through his front door, hollering like a mad man, but no one answered him. He ran through the rooms but the Rider had somehow beat him there, he watched as the cloaked figure dropped the withered corpse of his wife down on the bed, with a wave of his hand Len looked out the window and saw the crops shrivel and die, turned to dust, and the Rider kept advancing on him, grabbing him by the collar he looked up into brown eyes, glinting with gold. Choked in the vice like grip. He knew that face. He knew this damn face looking at him,--taller than when he'd seen him last, stronger too---opening his mouth wide and breathing in deeply, sucking the life out of him.

He knew this thing had killed his son.

His family.

And now him.


	22. Chapter 22

"Toby?" Macey wheeled cautiously throughout the house. Her mother and Headless had left about five minutes ago, and while Macey didn't completely trust Toby, she'd feel better knowing exactly where he was. "Toby?" she called again and heard him rustling around in the study. 

"In here," he called back and Macey went in, found him rummaging through books, he looked up at her with eyes that seemed too bright. Too keen. 

"What are you doing in here," she asked. 

"You ever try fixing your legs?" He asked abruptly, flipping through excitedly. Macey's face flamed. Well of course she'd tried, but she hadn't found anything. Didn't even know if it was possible. Toby paused and met her gaze. "What am I thinking, of course you've tried. But maybe you just haven't found the right book---"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's wrong with you," Macey repeated. "What sane person walks into a house with two witches and an animated corpse and volunteers to do the groceries? to help them find spell books? takes all of this in stride? I repeat, What. Is. Wrong. With. You?"

Toby's smile made her spine tingle, and not necessarily in a good way. "Headless doesn't scare me, been hearing tales about him for years, it's in the Bible, the Apocalypse....had some ancestors who were trialled for witchcraft. A great-great-great-great-well old, okay, Grandmother that they drowned, tied her feet together and threw her in the water. If she was a witch, she'd save herself. If she drowned she was pure and her soul would go to heaven. And another one, threw her off a cliff. if she was a witch,"

"She'd fly," Macey murmured, feeling horror settle in her stomach. 200 years ago doesn't seem that long ago when you start contemplating all of the very real and terrifying ways you could die. But she wouldn't have....she'd have survived and fled, leaving other innocent women to face that terror. 

"And if she was pure, she'd die," 

Macey contemplated that for a moment, suddenly feeling too warm. This heritage would have earned her death if she'd been caught out. A burning, flames creeping up her spine and turning her to ash. 

"So what, you've got a soft spot for witches?"

Toby sighed. "I guess I'm just not so quick to judge. Bad things happen to good people. Bad things happen to bad people, like Wally Winthorp. It's life," No, Macey wanted to protest, suddenly becoming a dried husk is not 'life' that's not a random occurrence, it's not like getting struck by a car and not being able to walk afterwards, not like losing a cancer battle. She cringed but pressed on.

"Tell me about you," Macey interjected, moving slightly closer. 

"Me? grew up poor, welfare, late rent, no food. You name it, my family saw it."

"Where are they, now?" 

"I don't know. I guess her boyfriend probably beat my mom to death by now. Little brother might be in foster care, I ran away. Mom wouldn't listen to me when I told her to leave that jerk. He was a bully. I can't---I can't stand bullies, fear mongers. I was weak then, small, took my share of blows I tell you, and he didn't hurt Drew then. I ran and hoped to make a life and go back for them but---" he shrugged. "She wouldn't answer her phone, and I don't know why. I plan to go out there and find out, once I get a bit stronger--"

"Stronger!" Macey barked out a laugh. "You've been growing like a weed," she said, gesturing to the corded muscles spreading from his hands up his arms. 

Toby smiled slyly. "I look good, don't I?"

"Don't push your luck." 

"Listen, I get you being wary of me. But I try to stand up for people, rich folk, well off people, they don't understand, they feel entitled, like they can do whatever they want. It made me sick watching Wally speak to you that way. Sick," he spat, staring into her eyes. "I came out here hoping to find someone actually. Heard he's tough, figured we'd team up and---"

"Protect the weak? form your own Justice League?" Macey raised a brow skeptically. 

Toby smirked at her reaching for another book. "Something like that. I think I've found him too." he paused and looked over at her again. "I'll find a way to fix your legs Macey, I promise. We just need that book. Then you'll trust me,"

"A promise is a comfort to a fool," she answered before rolling out of the room.

**********************************

Bram brought Deeds to a halt outside of the tunnels that contained the chamber and holding cell he'd been locked in. It fit the description that Cynthia had given him of where this mysterious book was stored. Bram got off and then helped Cynthia down, wordlessly they made their way inside, Cynthia following Bram's lead as they came to the great circular door leading to the holding cell. Locked, of course. Bram spoke for the first time when they reached it. 

"Are you alright?"

Cynthia jumped at the sudden break in the silence. "I'm fine. But this is a big step, from here, if we find a spell, we turn you back, we defeat the other Horseman, and then, then--"

"You and Macey go free before I take myself out back with a pistol," he finished. Cynthia took a deep breath.

"Do you still want to go through with it? what if it works and you're human again?"

The twinkle in Bram's eyes dimmed. "I have nothing to live for, Cynthia. Crane has his witness duty, he is bound to the other witness and the world to save it. I am just a villain to be vanquished. I would be doing all parties involved a great a favour. It is not my destiny that demands I survive. My destiny demands I destroy, or be destroyed. I've made my peace with that."

Cynthia nodded once and turned back to the locked door. Bram gripped her arm. "You'll be alright in there?"

Cynthia raised a brow, cocked her hip and conjured a ball of fire in her hand. "I think I can handle it," she smiled. Bram chuckled.

"Devil below knows you've been enough trouble to me, go on then," 

Cynthia stroked the lock once with her finger and the door swung open, inviting her in.

"Be careful, I'll stand guard." 

Cynthia nodded to him again once before the door whispered shut behind her.   
**********************************  
Crane and Abbie had decided they would move the grimmoire and head tonight, they were uneasy about Famine riding and felt they'd feel more secure with it in their hands. They'd picked up another set of tunnels, headed to the chambers, talking logistics along the way. 

"So you're hoping for a sit down with him? Headless, we want to put you to sleep?" Abbie asked, unimpressed.

"I would hope it could be handled so neatly, Lieutenant," 

"Were you going to tell him how Katrina died? we've concluded he probably felt it, somehow."

"I will tell him. Should he demand it---"

Bram could heard them coming, and rage filled his body. He'd felt her departure from the world, sure, but to know it had been Crane that had done it? His axe sparked to life in his hand and he was storming towards the sound of their voices before he could stop himself. Leaving the door unguarded. 

Abbie stopped. "did you hear that?"

"The sound of boots,"

"Duck!" she exclaimed right as the axe struck sparks where moments before Crane's head had been and then they were hightailing it out of those tunnels and into open air with Bram charging angrily behind them.

***********************

Once inside, Cynthia took in her surroundings. The manacles chained to the floor beneath the great dome, stars twinkling down. The glass shielded observation chamber. She went through there, picking her way through the ancient texts and odd objects when her hands found the heavy black tome. Dark. Forbidden. Just as Toby had described. She flipped it open, scanning through the pages, looking to see if this book indeed contained the spell she would need and--ah, there it was. It called for a lost object, what had Bram lost---right. His damn head. Shuddering Cynthia looked around the room, and when her eyes at last landed on the jar she felt far from relieved and greatly nauseated. She hefted the book in and grabbed the jar by the handle and was making her way out when she heard the tell tale click of a gun. She turned slowly. 

"Cynthia?"

Cynthia sighed. "Hey Jenny"


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a HUGE thank you to all of you for taking a chance on this unconventional fic and being so supportive and patient with me. You are a massive part of my motivation to continue! <3 <3 <3

Toby had left home in the middle of the day, when his kid brother Drew was still in school. He'd locked the door securely behind him, hefted his bag walked calmly down the street, hailing a taxi and leaving everything he'd called home behind. Both his mother and her abusive boyfriend were already dead when he left. The police would report they'd been sucked dry. Drew was put in a nice foster home. 

********************************

Cynthia staggered as Jenny threw her arms around her. "Oh my God you're okay, you're okay! I'm so sorry Cynthia I am. I couldn't reach you, I tried to call and they wouldn't go through, we tried driving out there and the car stalled and then Abbie and Crane were hunting for the kindred and they picked us up and--"

"Frank kissed you," Cynthia said solemnly and Jenny withdrew with horror in her eyes. "I scryed it," Cynthia explained. 

Jenny's eyes filled with tears. "I am so sorry Cynthia, I never meant to hurt you, or betray your trust. Please forgive me,"

"There's nothing to forgive," Cynthia replied sincerely and gave Jenny the smallest smile. "You've been there, I haven't. And I know you were doing your best to keep me and my daughter safe. And I am grateful to you for that, I am. I can't say I didn't hope, and that seeing it didn't hurt," she laughed sadly. "But I'm not the same woman anymore." She rubbed her fingers together and produced a spark, shimmering on the tip of her finger. Jenny watched it, entranced. " And Frank isn't the same man. This, all of this, business, has changed us. I like to think we're better people for it, just maybe not better together," 

Jenny wiped her nose, wiped her tears but her voice was still heavy, broken. "I never wanted to be that woman," 

Cynthia shook her head. "You aren't, alright? I'm gonna be okay,"

Jenny nodded slowly, and then her eyes began surveying the room, remembering where they were. "Wait a minute, what are you doing here?"

"I'm on the craziest mission to restore a headless horseman to humanity so he can defeat the new horseman in Risen Hearth and then Macey and I run free while he commits suicide,"

Jenny half snickered. "And he dies a hero?" 

Cynthia smiled. "Yeah, he finds it hard to swallow too. But we've been having some suspicious deaths there. I need to get back tonight, a boy was killed and Macey was the last who saw him alive, they found his family dead the other day. Bram--"

"Bram?" Jenny quirked her brow at the familiarity, folding her arms. 

"Yes, Bram," Cynthia continued. "He said he can feel the other horseman near, that he's riding and I guess---"

"Draining the lives out of people for power. We've had the same issue over here. Crane and Abbie have just been waiting to have a showdown with him. But they had hoped," she gestured to the items Cynthia was holding. "They had hoped to put Headless out of his misery for good first and then deal with Famine. Before Famine tried to join forces with him and continue that whole end of the world thing they're bound to," Jenny waved her hand in the air vaguely. 

"Macey's alone in the house with our new errand boy, and I'm worried with this Horseman running around, we think he killed the last guy running errands for us. That's too close for comfort for my liking. Bram suspects that he might want Macey---for what I don't know but I can't risk it, that's why I need these things,"

"He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

Cynthia laughed. "Hurt me? Bram hasn't done anything but hurt my feelings and that stopped the day I set him on fire,"

Jenny regarded her with approval. "You took to magic huh?"

"Only because he pushed me. The original plan was just to transform him and then let him find some creative way to kill himself. The new horseman complicated matters,"

"To hear you talk, it'd almost sound like you guys were friends,"

Cynthia hefted the book in one hand and the head in the other. "Well we're not enemies." she said, "and neither are we Jenny, Frank likes you, Macey does, I do," she stressed. "whatever the hell happens with any of this, I want you stay in Macey's life, our lives."

Jenny grinned. "Always"

"Good,"

"Wait a minute, was Headless supposed to be guarding the door?"

"He was, but here you are, so I guess he wandered off."

Jenny cursed. " I came here with Crane and Abbie, I'd bet that head and magic book they're out there having a duel." 

Cynthia sighed, depositing the items in her bag. "Lead the way,"

************************************

"You mongrel!" Bram raged as he swung again and Crane narrowly dodged. Abbie shot again and again but it only slowed his advancing on Crane, never completely breaking his stride. "You have stolen and stolen from me again and again!" He continued to rant and rage and curse, none of which Crane could hear, but it felt good to let shout as the anger overtook him. To unleash the pent up hurt and anger he had been quietly letting simmer, the grief he had buried, thinking Katrina had perished fighting beside Crane not against. It was no comfort to think she had gone back to the man who had so greatly betrayed him, but it would have been heartening to know she had died in the cause she claimed to fight for. To hear that Ichabod had turned on her, had ended her life---well Bram had been sure he was over and past his feelings of betrayal at the hands of Ichabod Crane. 

As it turned out, He was not. 

"Abraham! Crane shouted, bringing up a pipe he'd found discarded in the street to block another blow. "We wish to give you rest! I have done harm to you in the past, sending you on this path, and I wish to save you from venturing further. If your heart no longer tends toward end of days---" Bram roared and swung again--- "We will restore you and give you rest, if it does however, and you join with Famine--yes we--" he leapt as Bram swung for his legs. "We know about Famine, then we will end you all the same and destroy the other horseman"

"You know what amazes me about you Ichabod?" Bram growled, still knowing that Ichabod couldn't hear him but not caring a wit. "That you have no sense of shame, no sense of pride, no damning common sense. Did you never think of the insult to me, to my honour, for you to ask my blessing in your union with Katrina? How that would hurt me? Did you think me made of stone? What unnatural pillar, Ichabod," and his voice cracked here, and he was glad that Crane could neither here his voice falter nor see the tears welling in his eyes. "What unnatural pillar of forgiveness did you set me upon, that you thought I wouldn't feel the humiliation and pain of it? That I was beyond those simple human emotions? You took my betrothed, Ichabod, you took the woman who I hoped to build a life with, a human future with and then, you begged my blessing? how long do you deem long enough for a broken heart to heal, you monster? You, menace!" he swung with mighty force and Crane dodged, again rolling to the side. Abbie charged at Bram from behind and he swung at her with the blunt end, knocking her to the ground. "And then for what cause, you wipe her life away. You steal her breath and then offer me death as a peace offering? I AM DEATH" he kicked Crane in the chest as he started to get up, he reached down for him but Crane struck away his hand, leaping to his feet and began beating back with the pipe firmly in his grip. 

As if hearing him, Crane yelled over the clanging of axe and metal ."She turned on me, in the end, For Henry, he wanted a coven and she broke my heart. She would have been false to you too, Abraham,"

"No more false than proved your friendship!" He boomed. In the distance, he could hear the footsteps and yelling of approaching female voices. Cynthia and Jenny were rapidly approaching them, Jenny was firing shots that hit him, but was not enough to fell him as he went after Crane again. He had him in the perfect spot now.

"You have long since viewed me as inhuman!" Bram screamed at the top of his lungs, swinging with all of his force at Crane's neck.

"No!"It was so fast. There was empty space and then there wasn't. Cynthia threw herself between the axe and Crane, throwing up a shield before her. Bram halted just barely in time, the flaming edge of the axe skimming through her shield, Cynthia leaned away from it, hovering near her neck.

"Step away, Cynthia," Bram growled.

Cynthia shook her head. "No,"

"Cynthia I'm warning you, step away."

Cynthia broke into a sweat as she concentrated her energy on holding up the shield and keeping the blade at bay. 

"Miss Irving," Crane whispered. "This is not your quarrel,"

Cynthia shook her head again. "No." she locked eyes with Bram's, blazing with fury. 

"Move!" Bram yelled.

"No!" She shouted back. "You don't wanna be a monster?" she asked. "Then don't be," 

A beat. Her strength weakened and the blade started to slice through, closer, closer, it would be her head in a second---but Bram lowered the axe and Cynthia fell forward towards him from exhaustion. Bram caught her with one arm and then turning abruptly marched them back towards the horse, grumbling something at her. 

The witnesses and Jenny watched in stunned silence. Cynthia regained her footing and turned back towards them as Bram mounted Deeds.

"The spell can't be performed for a week." She called, her voice ringing in the still night air. "We need a full moon. Come for him in a weeks time. You can have him then," She paused to look over her shoulder at Bram, his face was set in a grim firm line and he nodded once. "He would like to die fighting," 

Cynthia swung herself up behind him, and they rode quickly out of sight. Horseman, witch, head and grimoire, in an instant, were gone.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions run high

The Witnesses and Jenny stood in open mouthed shock.

"Did that just happen?" Abbie asked of no one in particular, and then, answering her own disbelief, "That just happened. We just let that happen."

Crane bristled. "I have failed us, again,"

"Why was Cynthia even with Headless?" Abbie asked, throwing her arms up in the air. 

Jenny exhaled and ran her fingers through her hair. "I talked with her in the chambers. Let me explain inside,"

****************************************

The ride back was fast furious and silent. Cynthia could feel the weight of the head and the book thudding against her thigh as they rode, leaping fallen branches and darting through the night. Somehow the ride back seemed faster than when they had gone, and amazingly, they were back at the house just after nine. Macey was waiting outside for them and Cynthia off Deeds hurriedly, stumbling as she hit the ground and ran to her daughter. "Are you okay?" she asked, kneeling to peer in her face. Macey nodded. 

"Success?"

"Success," Cynthia confirmed with a triumphant smile of her own. Bram however, dismounted quietly and then stormed into the house past them. Toby stepped aside to give Bram room as he muscled inside. Macey whipped her head around to watch him go and then turned back. 

"What was that about?" 

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "It's nothing. I'll deal with it, and you," she looked over at Toby. "Did you behave yourself?" 

Toby rocked back on his heels with a cocky grin. "Sat on my hands the whole time, Miss Irving. Macey didn't hear a peep out of me,"

"That's a lie, he's a chatterbox," Macey muttered under her breath. Cynthia whispered back.

"Talking doesn't worry me too much, touching on the other hand," she teased and had the delight of seeing Macey give her a sly smile in return. 

"I would never,"

"You're damn right you'd never, I'd tan your hide missy. Now," She stood, brushing off her pants and headed inside toward the study to drop off the offending articles in her bag. The door was open, Macey and Toby followed close behind as she thunked the grimoire on the desk and set the head beside it. Macey shrieked.

"What in the world--"

Cynthia grimaced. "A necessary evil. Just, don't look at it." 

Bram came in then, still stormy and resolute, he wouldn't even meet Cynthia's eyes. "Get them out," he growled. Cynthia stared back at him incredulously. "Now's not the time for your smart mouth Cynthia, We will talk," 

"You like my smart mouth," she retorted quietly and Bram grunted in response. 

Glaring at Bram, Cynthia turned to Macey and Toby. "It's late, go read or go to the bed, just stay clear of this hot head, you hear me? We have things to discuss"

Macey met her mother eyes. "Is everything okay with you guys?"

Cynthia pet her hair and then kissed her daughters cheek. "Don't worry Macey. This is all going to be over, very soon," she smiled brightly, urging Macey and Toby to leave, reluctantly, they did, closing the door behind them. 

There was an agonizing moment of silence between them once the door closed. Nothing but the tick tock of the clock. The steady beat of Cynthia's heart. Her own rapid breathing. Bram was still as stone, his jaw clenched. She wondered how long they would stand there in this quite standoff when Bram started to speak. His voice deathly quiet, sharp edged.

"What, the hell, was that," 

"excuse me?"

Bram whirled on her, his chest was heaving and his fists clenched at his sides. "What the hell was that stunt you pulled with Crane? What did you think you were doing?!"

"I thought," Cynthia moved towards him, trying to hold her own temper in check. "That I was saving you from making a regrettable decision. You've been moping around here since I arrived, begging for humanity, I hoped to help you maintain some semblance of it," she spat. 

"Humanity!" Bram gasped. "Humanity!" he swung his arm wide and knocked the lamp off the table,it landed with a resounding crash. He grabbed random books on the shelf and threw them forcefully into the ground. Cynthia recoiled from the outburst for a split second but she refused to show fear. "I am a devil, a demon, and you would do well to remember that,"

"But--"

"But NOTHING" he blasted and Cynthia swore she felt his voice thundering in her bones. "Don't you think? What if I hadn't stopped in time! What if you weren't strong enough to hold that shield? I could have killed you and then you would leave me here to live with that?"

"Stuck as you are," Cynthina murmured and was shocked again when Bram stomped towards her, backing her up into the desk, her legs buckled and she scooted back on the surface, scrambling to put distance between them as she toppled over the desk into the waiting chair on the other end. Bram threw his hands down on the table. 

"Damn and hell the magic and spells I would have lost YOU" 

Cynthia felt her hair stand on end, the headache began again pulsing in the back of her head, and she heard a very distinct cracking sound that she couldn't place. 

Bram lunged at her across the desk and then came around, Cynthia quickly leapt from the chair, going the opposite direction. They danced around with the desk between them as Bram continued his rant. "For the good of sparing my non existent moral compass you would have sacrificed yourself and I would have lost you, Cynthia. I could not live with that grief, not again. Damn your insensitivity!" finding a break Cynthia lunged for the door, threw it open and ran out, but Bram followed behind her. "Why would you do it!" he yelled. And Cynthia was grateful that Macey couldn't hear him. He sounded absolutely frightful. She turned left in the hall and went for the piano room. "I am a beast! I am a murderer! Do you forget that? It is foolish to think I could be anything but that! I felt it tonight, when I almost had Crane---oh the glory of that darkness!"

"You were hurt. you were grieving!" Cynthia called over her shoulder as she backed into the room, waiting for him to come through. "You were riled up and you would have been the very thing you despise---"

"Then let me despise and be despised!" he thundered in, his eyes wide with madness. "I felt that power, the thing I bargained for and I remembered what I was."

"Bram---"

"DEATH." he shouted, advancing as Cynthia kept moving away from him. "I AM DEATH. I AM DECAY AND ROT AND ENDINGS. I AM A MONSTER WHO BARELY STOPPED HIMSELF FROM TAKING YOUR HEAD. I AM EVIL INCARNATE."

Cynthia gaped at him. She had never seen Bram so mad, had never heard him so angry. Had never felt that anger radiate through the room, and for the first time something like fear licked up her spine.

"To think anything of me could be human again! That I could pause in my ministrations to spare your life! To think there is enough of anything resembling a mortal man inside me to care after your well being---the control I had to exert tonight---You must go"

"What?" Cynthia stumbled, falling against the wall and at last Bram gripped her arm.

"I will go back to my path," he hissed, his eyes "I will finish what I started in this battle and finish Ichabod Crane. Tonight I ride."

"we just went through all of that to turn you back---"

"Be done with it!" he released her and stepped back. "Take your daughter and go. I ride tonight as Death, and you had better be gone when I get back or it will be your head,"

Cynthia slumped against the wall as Bram left, her breath coming in great heaving gulps, and again she heard something crack, a very distinct fragile sound of something coming undone. She took a moment before shaking her head to clear it and getting to her feet, calling for Macey. He wanted them out? she would get the hell out. 

"Macey!" she yelled, running through the house. "Macey! Macey!" panic arose within her as she raced down the halls. The house was too quiet. She should have questioned that. Macey would have at least heard her yelling and stumbling through the halls when she had been fleeing Bram. "Macey!" she shrieked, turning into her daughters bedroom and finding no one, she checked the other rooms and ice ran through her blood. Toby was gone too. She kept running, screaming for both of them, streaking past the study, where the door had been left open. She swallowed hard as she went in, scanning through the disarray and realized that the grimoire was gone.

No.

No.

She ran outside, still calling for her daughter as she circled the house, she ran around to the side where the stables were, still screaming at the top of her lungs. Bram was just mounting Deeds and Cynthia ground to a halt at the sight of him. The darkness rolling off of him, the danger, the violence and malevolence, it came at her like a wave, instilling fear and terror, a shriek clawing it's way up her throat---this was what the darkness looked like when Bram embraced it, this was the nasty, wicked thing that had clung to him, that he had been actively shunning and warding off, all until his run in with Crane, and it came roaring back with full force. She thought to turn around but Bram had heard her uncontrollable yelling and turned towards her. 

"What are you doing here!" and his voice felt like flames, like smoke, like ants crawling on her skin. His eyes were fire, and Cynthia thought to herself, his victims had been fortunate that they couldn't see his face. The sight of him alone would have scared them to death. Cynthia froze like a dear in headlights. He was right. He was a monster, an unholy abomination, she had been sharing a roof with this thing, laughing with it, seeking comfort in it, helping it, and just beneath the surface lurked this devil. Barely contained was a creature of malice and destruction, but that hand wielding the axe had gripped her chin and his blazing eyes had peered into hers, telling her what she was worth. And that voice that even now brought such terror, that made her heart quake and her insides hollow had told her it couldn't lose her. 

Before he threatened to take her head.

To say she was confused was an understatement.

"Cynthia!" he bellowed again and she shuddered. He abandoned Deeds and approached her but Cynthia cringed away from him and she saw for a fleeting moment the look of hurt on his face. She had never been truly afraid of Bram before, but the power that had come surging back to him when he had decided to ride again---that power itself carried a gnawing fear with it. Surely he knew that the force of that energy alone would stop someone in their tracks. She could barely look at him, feeling the weight of darkness pressing in on her. 

"Macey," she squeezed out, still turning her gaze away from him. "Macey is gone," she choked out. "Toby too, and the grimoire is gone," 

Suddenly it was like the flame of his power guttered somewhat, fading back to a dull roar. It still surrounded him but the feeling of it was less oppressive, and Cynthia dared to look at him. The flames in his eyes were a dull glow. "Did you say Macey is gone?"

"I checked the whole house,"

"Ride with me," he said turning back toward Deeds, looking over his shoulder when he noticed that Cynthia hadn't followed. "Get on the horse Cynthia,"

She found enough courage to snap back at him. "Did you forget you just threatened to take my head off not fifteen minutes ago?"

"A passionate outburst for which I apologize! Cynthia we must save Macey, you can be properly offended at me once we rescue her but we have to go--"

Cynthia pushed past him and got on Deeds, he swung up in front of her and she latched on, ignoring the way he felt like a furnace and that she was sure her fingers would be burned. 

"I should have known," He said as they took off. "I felt it, I felt it, and yet I didn't put it together, it was too coincidental, how could I have missed it"

"Toby is Famine, isn't he," Cynthia concluded, a chill running down her spine and her heart sped up. 

"I should have known---"

"Enough of that, what's he going to do with Macey? how will we find them?"

"He was the one who killed Wally," Bram began piecing it together as he spurred Deeds to gallop faster. "Wally offended Macey somehow and he killed Wally for her, for power, for her honour, maybe---"

"But you're the one he wants!" Cynthia shouted, the wind was whistling in her ears "For the Apocalypse, to join forces!"

"I don't have time to piece together the logic of a condemned mad man! Just hold on!" 

Cynthia clammed up and prayed furiously in her head.

Hold on Macey, we're coming.


	25. Chapter 25

Macey had heard the crash in the study and was moving towards it when a figure blocked her path. Before she could scream there was a gag, she was blindfolded and yanked out of her chair, thrown over their shoulder as they marched into the study, she heard the sound of papers rustling and rummaging around and then the rapid foot falls, three pairs. The lighter fleeing ones, her mother's voice, and heavy stomps of Headless and then the pair of feet that were carrying her away at a full force run. She beat her hands on their back, trying her best still to scream through her gag. She struggled but the grip was firm. She felt herself thud and then the whiny of a horse. That's not Deeds, she thought with surety---whose horse---her stomach fell. This must be the other horseman. And only one other person had been in the house.

She felt the person slide onto the horse behind her gripping the reins around her. "Yah!" and the horse leapt into action. "Just hold on Macey, it'll be fine. I told you I'd fix your legs, and now I'll prove it,"

*******************************

"Crane, you have to stop beating yourself up" Abbie sighed as they entered the cabin.

"You are too kind to keep overlooking my faults,"

"I'm not overlooking them, trust me. But you're human. It happens. We've got through tough stuff before, and we'll do it again." she punched him lightly on the arm with her tell tale Abbie Mills smile. 

Crane offered a weak smile of his own in return. "It's just a little disorienting to think Abraham is trying to defeat Famine"

Abbie smirked. "Worried he's gonna steal your Witness thunder Crane?"

"It does offend my sensibilities somewhat," he conceded. "Further more, we should have gone with them, to help, what if it's all a ploy? What if Cynthia has turned towards darkness---"

Abbie clapped a hand over his mouth. "Stop"

"Lef-mmphh" he mumbled.

"Stop," Abbie insisted. "You've been letting your suspicion run wild since Katrina, and I can't have you doubting everything. Being wary is one thing, ridiculous is another."

"Lef-mmphhh!" he grumbled once more and Abbie removed her hand. He glared at her for a moment before sighing and sinking down into the nearest chair. She was right of course. One betrayed trust did not warrant the instant distrust of all others. 

"Cynthia has a strained bond with Frank now, and none of us know her that well, but she's not evil Crane. Cynthia didn't even have a concept of, good vs evil, not in that sense, until your son and wife rung that damned bell," Crane winced at the reminder.

"It is difficult having something that is so powerful--"

"That cost you so much," Abbie concluded, pulling up a chair next to Crane she gestured for him to turn and face her. "And have it in the hands of someone that we've been fighting for going on two damn years," 

Crane swallowed thickly in response.

"I know our whole idea was to finish him off, but I saw you out there tonight Crane, the fight, you weren't really all in it. Not like you've been before."

"I was talking too much, pleading with the barbarian,"

"No, I think part of you started to see your friend again. Part of you, it still wants to try doesn't it"

"To what, Leftenant?"

Abbie smiled sadly, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. "To save him. " she said matter of fact. " your faith Crane, it might screw us over, but your faith in people is still one of your greatest strengths. Don't let what happened with Katrina ruin that for you. I can say first hand that knowing one has the faith of Ichabod Crane is an incredible gift,"

"Leftenant," he half heartedly admonished, his lips twitching into a small smile. 

"Having the faith of Ichabod Crane," Abbie mused, turning her eyes up to the ceiling, as if looking off at something of wonder. "Is like the surety of the sun rising each morning. Like--" she rose from her seat and began striding around the room,"--knowing that the world is round. It's--it's--damn, it's like knowing people are born, and that we all die, it's the surety of the damn thing. The comfort of it, Crane, your faith is like the taste of hot chocolate on a cold day. Like the guarantee you will sweat bullets in that coat come summer. It's steady, Crane. Your trust, is sure, unwavering, you can set a clock by it. It's constant. And you put your whole self into it. Any fool is lucky for you to just put faith in them. I count my blessings everyday that I got you, Crane," she finished with a smile, turning around and bumping smack into Crane.

"Geez you gotta warn someone before you just move, you're too tall and awkward to not beep or something when you start moving around---" Crane gripped her upper arms and Abbie tipped her head up to meet his gaze. She swallowed. "All I'm saying Crane is, foolish as it is on my part to indulge this again, is if you want to try to save Abraham, for good, I'm with you,"

"Abbie," he whispered, with a faint smile. "You have no idea what a comfort your words are to me, and I shall forever be endeavouring to live up to them"

"It's nothing Crane, you just need to stop being so quick to flog yourself when we slip up, we'll never survive if we have to keep digging one another out of depths of despair," she winked. "I like you better assertive anyway. You had your mind made up to destroy him, I'm gonna give you a chance to make it up again if you want to save him, if possible. Just commit to it, will you. We don't have time to flip-flop"

"What does your footwear have to do with the discussion at hand?"

Abbie groaned and scrubbed a hand across her face. "Oh, Crane," 

*******************************

Toby only removed the blindfold when they had reached their destination, but he left the gag in as they trotted up the path toward the property. There was a sign at the foot of the driveway. Macey read the word quickly, over and over again, her stomach churning. 

Winthorp.

*******************************

"So I, saw Cynthia, tonight." Jenny said casually as she entered the room. Frank stood up to fast from behind the table and upset the coffee. 

"Cynthia?"

"Yes---" he crossed the room in two steps and gripped her arms. 

"Where is she? was she alright? did you see Macey? is she safe?"

Grimacing, Jenny tried to think of the right way to say his ex wife had been riding with the horseman of Death. "She....she's different, Frank."

Frank released her and took a few steps back. "What do you mean, different?"

"Like she can create a spark just rubbing her fingers together. She saved Cranes life tonight---"

"whoa whoa whoa, would do you mean she saved Crane? where exactly did you run into her Jenny? And why didn't you bring her and Macey back with you?"

Jenny took a deep breath. This was going to be the more difficult part. 

"Jenny?"

"You might want to sit down for this part,"

**********************************************

Macey had never wished more than ever in her life that she could run. Toby carried her into the Winthorp house, stepping over the yellow tape, stepping around the chalked outlines of where Kayla had fallen after Toby had sucked her dry, before he'd drained Ivy and Len, upstairs, Jack he had taken down in the field, in a matter of seconds. That was the thing about Toby's power, it worked fast. It was hungry. 

Growing up in a home rife with abuse and hardship, it wasn't a hard bargain for Toby to strike with the demon that had appeared to him. He hadn't felt all that attached to his soul. It had told him, to prove his loyalty, and his worthiness, he must suck the life out of the wicked and the cowardly and as a reward, he would get the power, and the duty of riding as a horseman of the Apocalypse, he would be Famine--thriving on the greed, power, and weakness of the human race. And the greatest reward, safety for his little brother, Drew. What Toby had done, trading his soul, he had done out of love, and now driven by the nature of the thing he had become he had begun his devilish work in earnest. He had been searching for Death, had actually wanted to help Death get his head back so they would be strong together and be able to seek out the other horseman. 

But there was Macey.

She came in that day while he was working at that diner, and he felt her power. Saw her strength, barricaded by the limitations of her body---and an instinct arose within him. He would help Macey as he had helped his brother. He would use his power one more time for something good, he would give her the use of her legs, strength, unrivalled and unparalleled power, and she would join him. Macey would ride by his side when he was through. She had doubted him earlier, but after tonight, she would see all of the benefits of the darkness. 

"Stop thrashing," he said calmly as he approached and removed the gag. He hadn't bothered to tie her hands or legs, he had just plunked her down in the floral printed arm chair in the living room as he spread out the grimoire on the coffee table and began flipping through it.

"You," her tone was accusatory. "You murdered Wally, the Winthorps, destroyed the crops, why are you doing this?"

"Part of the job, Macey,"

"You said you couldn't stand bullies. You're just a glorified menace,"

"What I have chosen I did out of love!" He shouted, racing from the room, making a racket in the kitchen before returning to her. Macey's blood ran cold. He was holding a cleaver.

"What-what-what" Macey stammered, breaking out into a sweat. 

Toby ignored her question. "I told you my life was rough growing up. And in exchange for my addlebrained mother, who never protected us from her violent boyfriend, and the abusive dog himself, I got all of this," he gestured to his heightened form, the flowing black robe, "And my brother got adopted to a nice foster home, safe, well fed. Cared for--"

"You, you killed your mother?"

"And the jerk who beat the crap out of her and myself alike," Toby admitted coldly. 

"What have I done to you?" She asked, willing herself not to cry. 

Toby's eyes softened as he approached her, tucked her hair behind her ear. "Nothing, Macey. You've done nothing and yet you were dealt a poor hand. I promised to repair your legs, to restore you, and that book has the spell to do it, It's a restoration spell, not unlike what your mother intends to use on Headless--I'm not going to allow her to finish that by the way, I need him to raise and reunite the other Horsemen" 

"Don't you dare lay a hand on my mother!"

Toby sneered. "I have no allegiance to her. Her power tastes like honey, I would enjoy draining her,"

Macey balled her fists but couldn't move. She'd only end up on the floor, again, and she couldn't bare to be in a position that would possibly be even more vulnerable. Toby turned on her with the cleaver.

"Now, the spell calls to reunite the party with something that is lost. You haven't lost anything physical,like a head, for example. So what I'm going to do is remove your legs, and then reattach them to you, you'll be able bodied and once I finish tinkering with the spell, immortal, and you can ride with me, from now on,"

"You're going to cut my legs off," Macey stated, the disbelief almost cancelling out her fear. "Haven't you heard of blood loss? I'll bleed out and die,"

Toby held the cleaver up to the light and ran a finger along it. "Incidentally, the spell calls for the participant to be dead. So this will all work out nicely," He advanced towards her. "You'll be good as new when I'm done, I promise. Now, will you be quiet while I do this or should I gag you again?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned I'm going to start kinda messing with some of my own logic here, but I figure since the show foiled some of it's own logic in season two, maybe it fits? lol.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading! The end is coming soon!

The crash of the front door stopped Toby in his tracks. By the time he was turning around Cynthia had kicked him in the chest, the cleaver went flying, lodging itself in the window frame.

"You stay the HELL away from my daughter!" she yelled, kicking him again before reaching down for him on the floor with her hands bursting flames. Macey wanted to laugh at how easily her mother turned Toby's robes to ash but began screaming when Toby gripped Cynthia in turn and began to inhale.

"LET GO MOM" Macey shrieked, "LET GO"

*****************************

"My wife tells you she's on a mission with the Horseman of Death and you let her gallop off with the head AND grimoire? And where the hell is Macey?"

Jenny gestured for him to follow her down the street. Frank trailed her, still stunned. "What are you doing?" He asked as Jenny threw herself on the ground edging beneath a hefty black terrain vehicle. 

"What's it look like I'm doing? I'm hot wiring the stupid thing," the car jolted to life and Jenny hopped in.

"No,"

"You're not on the ever loving force right now Frank, get in the car. I put a tracker on Cynthia when I hugged her."

"And you didn't tell Abbie and Crane?"

Jenny threw the car in gear. "I know this saving the world thing is primarily their territory," she glanced over her shoulder as she took the car out of the parallel parking spot. "But I figure since this involves your family, you get first dibs." she withdrew a device from her jacket.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Frank groaned. Jenny gave him a sly look and Frank recanted. "You're right, I don't wanna know." 

"Let's go"

*****************************

Mace's passionate cry conjured a wave that knocked both Toby and Cynthia to the ground, but he had already begun to drain her, the cheeks of her face beginning to hollow. 

Bram came crashing in then. It had all happened so fast, he'd barely pulled up on the reigns when Cynthia had leapt off of Deeds and literally blazed a path to the house and in the front door. He took in the scene of Cynthia slumped on the floor, her head lolling to the side, her limbs beginning to look like dried branches, saw that Toby that piece of scum was crawling towards her still form to finish her off and reaching for Toby lifted him off his feet before slamming him into one wall, then the next and then throwing him across the room. Macey kept screaming. "Wake up Mom! Wake up!"

Toby glared up at Bram from where he had fallen on the floor, quickly rose to his feet and moved to where Macey sat. "One step closer," he threatened. "And I shrivel her legs up like raisins."

Bram paused with the axe in hand. His anger sparking the whole thing with hellfire. 

"Toby," Macey pleaded and he looked askance at her. "Don't, please, don't, I'll come with you, finish the spell and I'll come with you, just, please, tell me my mom will survive," 

Toby glanced quickly towards Cynthia, still on the floor, but her face seemed to be filling out again. "She might come back, still. But I'd just need to grab her again to drain her of her power fully,"

Bram roared and was pleased that Toby was distracted by it. "You snake in the grass,"

Toby sneered. 

"You understood my every word, the whole time,"

"Horsemen have a special bond in that. join me, Headless,"

Bram roared again and Toby stretched closer to Macey's legs. "Ah ah ah," he wagged a finger at Bram to scold him. "One stroke, that leg becomes a twig. It'll wither and fall off." 

**********************************

"I'm going to call Jenny and see how Frank took the news about Cynthia," Abbie said, whipping out her cell phone.

********************************

Jenny checked her phone and threw it back in her bag.

"Who was that?"

"Abbie and Crane, did you want reinforcements?"

"Well, we're kinda marching into a situation with two horsemen of the Apocalypse and a witch gone rogue---"

"Cynthia has not gone rogue--" Jenny cut him off. "You know nothing about what that women has become,"

Frank regarded her. "Had a good chat with her did you?"

Jenny smirked. "She's not afraid to get her hands dirty if she needs to, I respect that. I don't have time to answer that anyway, let'em track it."

"Track?"

"Oh please," Jenny rolled her eyes as she cut a driver off to change lanes. "Abbie's had a tab on my phone for months, it gives her piece of mind, I can't be bothered to complain about it. They'll get to us,"

********************************

Crane looked up from his book. "No answer?"

Abbie pursed her lips. "No, but we can find them, let's roll Crane." She tore out of the Cabin, and Crane, with a few long strides caught up with her as they got in the car. 

"Leftenant,"

"Yeah Crane?" Abbie gritted her teeth as she pulled out and tore down the street, keeping an eye on her phone which she had mounted on the dashboard. The light was just a few miles ahead, leaving Sleepy Hollow and headed for.....well, they weren't going too far, that was a relief, if she floored the gas they could make good time. 

"There is one reason for me to distrust Cynthia,"

"This again Crane? she saved your life tonight,"

"She lied, Leftenant"

"What?" Abbie whipped her head around to look at him. 

"About the spell, I memorized it--"

"Of course,"

" it doesn't call for a full moon."

"Get on with it Crane," 

"The spell only works if---"

*******************

"This is our cause, Headless, we turned our back on the pitiful disgusting nature of humanity to destroy it. Our calling. Our purpose. Why do you wish to shun it now? For her?" he flung his arm in the direction of Cynthia. "The witch? With the hopes that you might what, throw down your armour and rest? SOULS REST AND YOU HAVE NONE. HOW DO YOU SUPPOSE YOU GIVE A NON EXISTENT SOUL PEACE?" he screeched, in his passion he had moved away from Macey and crossed the distance to stand before Headless. Had Brams head been attached, they'd be nose to nose. 

"Speak plainly," Bram seethed.

"You don't even know the details do you, didn't even bother to read the fine print,"

"You didn't exactly give us time before plotting this mad scheme," Bram retorted.

"Restoring a dead mortal through magic is easy. A soul hovers around. It goes back to the body. Good as new. But yours? Your soul went far far away, and it'll need an entrance back into your body. A wound. All this spell will do is strip your powers, but you'll be doomed to a powerless immortality, and instead of causing the destruction of the world, you'll sit idly by and watch it. So your whole 'become mortal and then die'? Not gonna happen."

"You lie," Bram sent Toby flying across the room. 

"Your choice, Headless. Immortal, powerful, and ride as Death. Or immortal, weak, forever, alone."

**************************

Crane paused and then continued. "It calls for a wound, and a soul to be returned to the body, that's why she wants us to come for Bram. She doesn't need a full moon, she'll need me,"

**************************

"This looks like the place," Jenny checked the monitor one more time before getting out of the car, drawing her gun and Frank following with his own. 

"this is a crime scene," Frank said, surveying the grounds as they walked up the driveway. "The crops are--"

an ear splitting scream shattered his thought. "Macey? That was Macey" He broke into a run ahead of Jenny. 

"Frank!" she called chasing after him, glancing over her shoulder as she heard another set of wheels grind to a halt behind her. She waved at Abbie and Crane as they flew out of the car and started racing towards the door with her.

*************************

"You are neither judge nor juror" Bram cornered Toby. 

"Aren't you self righteous" Toby snarled, reaching up and grabbing Bram's arm. He surprised Bram with his strength, the way his fingers pressed into Brams skin, how his eyes blazed with hate, how he took great deep breaths, drawing in, draining and then he saw the moment when Toby's eyes blew wide with shock, horror.

Bram chuckled darkly. "I am Death," he taunted. "There is no life to drain from me, fool. But you still have a body to rot, and power I can thrive on," 

Toby continued to struggle in Brams grasp and Macey summoned her strength. Icicles shot up from the floor, circling Toby's lower half.

"Traitor!" he screamed. "I would have healed you! given you immortality!"

Bram looked over at Macey, and wished she could hear him. Instead he gestured between himself and her.

You want me to finish him off or do you want the honours?

Macey grinned as she kept forcing ice out of the ground, clambering up and through Toby's body until there were icicles coming up through his mouth, his ears, they punctured his eyes as they sprouted through his sockets 

Team Witness came hurtling into the room, guns poised, just in time to see Bram swing his axe through the ice sculpture that was once Toby. 

Famine had been defeated. 

Cynthia was still out.

Frank ran to Macey.

"Dad?" she gasped in shock, relieved tears springing to her cheeks. 

Abbie and Jenny knelt beside Cynthia who had stopped drying out, her skin and body returning to health but she seemed to be knocked out still from Toby's attack. Crane was left alone to look over Headless.

He held up his hands in surrender. "I mean no harm, Abraham,"

Bram rolled his eyes, though Crane couldn't see it and marched past him to Cynthia in the corner, before Frank decided to step in front of him then too. 

"Don't be foolish Frank. He saved Macey. He's not going to harm Cynthia," Jenny snapped.

"How can you be so sure?" Frank shot back, still eying up Headless.

With a strong arm Bram silently forced Frank and the others out of the way before kneeling and lifting Cynthia up in his arms. 

"I'm staying with mom," Macey said suddenly. Frank shook his head vehemently no. 

"No way in hell your little but is coming home with me,"

"Jenny say something please," she pleaded.

"Frank--"

"Jenny you are the last person who should be scolding me tonight, alright? The discussion is closed. And you, block head or lack there of, give me back my wife,"

Ex-wife. Bram corrected in his head. Bram didn't budge.

"I said--" Frank walked up to him, jabbing his chest. "Put her down,"

Crane grabbed Franks arm and led him away. 

"I do not believe her life is yours to command any longer, Captain," he said quietly, giving him a pointed look. He looked back over at Bram. "The spell, it is my wish,"

"Our wish," Abbie joined in, standing by Cranes side. "It is our wish to try and restore you to full humanity. Live a completely mortal life."

Bram wanted to choke on the bitterness of it. Toby had just given him the truth of the spell, without his soul, all the restoration spell would do is give him a torturous eternity. Forever watching the world turn, and people die. A promise to be eternally alone. And his alternative was to remain Death, a half life he didn't want. There'd be more fools trading their souls to become horsemen. More would be allies seeking him out recommence End of Days. His choices were abysmal. But Cynthia needed care, and he needed to get away from them all with their suddenly helpful faces. 

"Do you accept?" Abbie asked. Bram nodded curtly, anything to get out of here. She looked back over at Crane who nodded in turn. "Very well then. Do you still need a week?"

Bram shook his head no. Whatever would become of him, a few days wouldn't make a difference now. 

"I want to stay with mom! None of you have been there for her and I won't leave her alone!"

Slowly, Bram turned towards Macey and held up one finger. 

One Night. Go with your Father for one night, and then return. Let them care for you, and let them plot. He hoped that simple gesture was enough for her to understand and he was relieved when Macey agreed, her mouth a tight line.

"I'll come back for tonight, and I'll go back in the morning." She glared at Frank. "No objections," 

"Better idea, there's got to be a hotel in town, we'll stay there for a few days, all of us. We'll be close enough for Macey to go back to the house, and we can all figure out our next step in restoring Headless,"

"Bram." Jenny corrected, looking over at Cynthia, still cradled in Bram's arms. "Cynthia called him Bram," 

"Bram," Abbie nodded. "Fine. Let's move guys. This has been one hell of a night,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's pretty much smooth sailing from here guys. I'll make it good, I promise.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little wind down period

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the quick resolve last chapter, but I kinda wanna get to the fluff stuff. Can't very well do that with Famine running free now can I.

The ride back to the house was twice as long because Bram didn't want to jostle Cynthia too much. He had her seated in front of him, his arms reaching around her to grip the reigns on Deeds, her head falling back against his chest. Bram still felt riled up from the events of the night, and once more he felt uncontrollably angry, an anger that he soon realized was fear when he looked down at Cynthia's sleeping face. That was two close calls tonight with her and he wasn't sure he could survive another one. Macey had gone with the others, taking the grimoire with them, and he was grateful that Cynthia would have a chance to rest. If Macey had come back to the house he knew Cynthia would be up half the night worrying over her when she needed rest herself. Physically, everything about her looked back to normal, but there was still no telling what effects Toby's power had had on her. The fact that she was still sleeping was not comforting. Deeds trotted lazily back, switching his rear end to and fro. The stars were winking at them above, and as the moon light hit her face, Cynthia blinked her eyes open, made a small groaning noise. "Bram?"

He looked down at her, his brow furrowed, he slowed Deeds to a halt. "I'm here," he assured.

She nodded once, her eyes closing again before they snapped back open and she bolted upright. "Macey! where's---"

"Sssh," Bram soothed, coaxing her to lean on him again. He absently patted her hands with his own. Deeds impatiently pawed the ground. "We destroyed Famine. Macey is unharmed. Your, husband and 'the gang'" he thought he saw a glimmer of a smile flash across her face, "Came to join the festivities near the end, they're staying at a hotel here in Risen Hearth. Macey will come by later," 

Cynthia looked up at him from underneath her lashes, "Okay," she said. "What happened to me?"

"He tried to drain you," Bram explained, nudging Deeds forward to continue their journey home. "Macey attacked him and knocked you both to the ground, getting you out of his grasp. But then you stayed out, until now." He bent his head down to her ear. "Don't scare me like that again," he said, his voice tight. Cynthia's eyes had closed again but she smiled. 

"You gave me a fair fright this evening, I am evil incarnate! be gone when I get back or it'll be your head!" she chuckled, and then coughed. Bram frowned.

"My behaviour was deplorable and I apologize," he could see the edge of their land now. 

"You're dangerous Bram, you're unstable and insane," she mumbled, her voice sounding drowsy. 

"I'm truly, deeply, so sorry for my outburst---"

"But you would have killed tonight," she yawned. "If Macey weren't in trouble. You'd have turned your back on everything,"

Bram was quiet as they trotted around to the stables, he put Deed in his stall, swung himself off and then lifted Cynthia down in his arms. Her pony tail had loosened and was half tumbling down her back. 

"At the end of the day, I am what I am," he spoke at last, his voice solemn. 

"You choose what to be, Bram," her hands were folded in her lap as Bram marched her in the house, up the steps and to her room, she reached up to touch the collar of his coat, brushing the space where his chin would be, if his head were manifest. "If you don't want to be a monster......" but be it exhaustion, or if she was still weak from Toby's attack Cynthia drifted off to sleep before Bram could gently lower her onto the bed. He threw the blanket over her and pulled up a chair beside her bed and plunking himself down in it, Bram watched her sleep. The slow rise and fall of her chest, and he wasn't sure if he had imagined it, but he swore he heard something crack. 

If you don't want to be a monster, she had said that twice to him tonight. 

Bram looked at the moon through the window. "Don't be," he breathed.

*****************************************

They gave Macey the bed, Jenny took the arm chair and Frank took the wall nearest the door. All three of them talked for a long time before they slept.

They talked through the trusts and mistrust, and the new dynamics of their family model. Eventually Jenny crawled into the bed with Macey, and Frank pulled the chair up close and wished them both good night. 

Macey smiled to herself as she drifted off. It wasn't the family she'd been born into, but she was sure she was going to have something closer to resembling one when all of this was over.

**********************************  
Abbie patted the empty space on the bed beside her. Crane hesitated. "I'm tired as hell Crane I don't have time for this get. In. The bed," 

Crane shirked off his coat and slipped in next to Abbie, she arranged the blanket carefully over both of them and then rolling over threw her arm around Crane. His breath caught for a moment before he relaxed and reached for her hand, clasping it over his stomach. 

"You alright?"

"I believe I am, Miss Mills,"

Abbie smiled. "Good. Get some sleep, okay?"

He clutched her fingers tighter. "Goodnight, Abbie"

***********************************

Bram had closed his eyes for just a moment but when he opened them again Cynthia was watching him with a bemused smile, her head propped up on her elbow. "You know I don't think I've ever seen you sleep."

Bram ruffled. "Is it morning?" he glanced out the window.

Cynthia followed his gaze. "Almost," she looked back at him. "Thank you. I feel like I'm saying that a lot lately," she laughed lightly. "But thank you, for saving Macey,"

"I don't think I'm deserving of the gratitude, Cynthia, I, I was a horrible, horrible person to you. I threatened your life," he emphasized, amazed as he recalled his behaviour. 

"Yeah well I guess I didn't read the fine print signing on to become Death's roommate. Warning, might occasionally mention taking your head," she said drily.

"Cynthia, I mean it." and here Cynthia rose up slightly, and Bram edged onto the bed, he reached for her hand. "I do not understand how or when, but I have begun to value your life, if I wasn't clear, before."

"There was an awful lot of yelling in that sentiment, not to mention chasing me around the house like a mad man," Cynthia listed, and Bram felt wretched. 

"Enough," he rasped, but when he met her eyes they were twinkling wickedly. "are you, are you teasing me right now?" 

"Depends on if I'm being successful at it," 

Some of the light returned to Bram's eyes. "What I'm trying to say is, I don't want to see you hurt, you or Macey. And If it's in my power, no harm will ever come to you. I keep my vows,"

"I remember," Cynthia sighed. "You really did scare me tonight you know. But the most frightening thing was, even terrified, I trusted you." she shook her head. "I still trust you. And I don't know how to make sense of that right now, I just---" Bram pulled her into an embrace and felt Cynthia hug him back, her hands gripping the cloth of his coat. His hand wound into her hair, holding her head against his shoulder. 

"I can't make sense of it either," he murmured. "If we could just stay this way for a moment, while we both think,"

Turning her head, Cynthia inhaled deeply. He smelled like fire and brimstone. Like Hell. 

But being held right then, felt like Heaven.

She had to be losing her mind. 

And if he hadn't lost it already, he'd say he was losing his head.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> domestic fluff. hope you don't mind

"Mom?"

Cynthia had drifted back to sleep in Bram's embrace so quietly, so stealthily, that by the time he had realized, his arm was effectively trapped underneath her sleeping form. But it hadn't been unpleasant. Cynthia's exhalations released quiet puffs of air against his chest, and he was amused to learn that she snored. But---

"Mom!"

\----That had to be Macey downstairs, and he had better go greet her. So, carefully extracting himself he sat up and padded down stairs barefoot. He had had to kick off his boots when finding no other comfortable position after Cynthia dozed off, swung his legs up on the edge of the bed and laid, perfectly still, beside her. Macey looked up as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, her face beaming, eyes bright, looking so alive, rested healt---well, his gaze swung towards her legs, her chair, and recalled anew the horrors of last night, and what Famine had almost succeeded in doing to Macey and the fear returned, clenching terror that any later and Macey would have been dead, or irreversibly changed, and moved by the emotion, Bram stooped down and folded his arms around her. 

Macey blinked in surprise before tentatively returning the hug. He was so grateful that both she and her mother was okay, alive, the relief he felt was overwhelming.

"Hey," Macey called softly, and Bram withdrew, straightening, and forgetting himself again, pet her hair. Not unlike the way Frank had done the night before when he had bid her and Jenny goodnight. And for an instant, just a flicker, Macey thought she could glimpse Bram's face. And she was shocked by the briefness of the vision, and that it had even occurred at all. "Thanks for saving me, and my mom. We made a pretty good team," she smiled and Bram nodded agreement, although she didn't see and he began puttering around in the kitchen. Presumably to prepare breakfast. Macey suddenly had an idea, and she felt stupid that she hadn't thought of it before. She found a scrap of paper and pen in her bag and beckoned him over. "Write your answers," 

Bram regarded her curiously but made a "go ahead" gesture with his hand while he turned back to the fridge.

"What were you and my mother arguing about last night, before Toby took me? you came back here in a bad mood,"

Bram stilled. Well she wasn't one to beat around the bush. He set down the carton of eggs and took up the pen. 

She made a poor decision while retrieving the book, He replied vaguely. Macey read it, quirked a brow at him and continued. 

"What kind of poor decision?"

She stepped between myself and Ichabod Crane.

"And?"

Bram groaned. He wasn't convinced it was prudent to mention that he had nearly accidentally decapitated her mother, nor that after having his breakdown he had threatened to do just that. He considered his answer carefully.

I was very angry in the moment, and almost lost control.

"You nearly killed her didn't you," Macey concluded. Bram was still and made no move towards writing a response. "And that's what made you angry. There was a moment when you weren't sure if you could control yourself, and you got mad my mom got in the middle of things. You're afraid of what you are a bit, aren't you?"

Bram gaped at the young Irving. She got that wit from her mother and father alike, but the keen discerning eye, ready to forgive, that was all her mothers. 

Gripping the pen, he scribbled a hurried: Yes

Seemingly satisfied, Macey handed him the bacon out of the fridge and reached for the frying pan before suddenly asking. "Do you like my mom? Like, have, feelings?"

Macey snickered at the speed in which Bram hurriedly wrote: No Comment.

***********************************

Cynthia heard chatter downstairs and rolled over, swinging her feet off the bed and unwittingly into Brams big boots, she stood up, tripped in them, sprawling on the floor and cursed as she kicked them off before staggering downstairs. As she neared the kitchen she could hear Macey laughing. The clanking of pans, the smell of bacon and eggs and her stomach made a mighty growl, loud enough that she heard a pause as soft footfalls rounded the corner. Soft, she noted. When not thundering around in those boots his feet were quiet padding things. Human. And that warmed her for some reason. Bram smiled "Morning sleepy head"

"What time is it?" she yawned.

"Ten fifteen," Macey smiled and Cynthia embraced her daughter, instant tears gathering in her eyes and she rapidly blinked them away. 

"Oh Macey," she murmured, kissing her daughters hair. Bram looked on, feeling, oddly comforted to see mother and daughter together when Macey looked over her shoulder at him. No. She couldn't mean for him to intrude on this special moment. But then Cynthia looked up and swung her arm wide. With the two of them looking at him expectantly, it would be outright rude to refuse, so he went over and joined in this hug until Macey squealed.

"Enough family bonding I'm going to choke!" she laughed. Some part of Bram fractured on the word 'Family' as Macey broke away and she smiled at them both, Cynthia watching her with so much maternal love in her eyes and Bram's arm still lightly draped over her shoulder, and once more, a flicker, like a light being turned on and off, she saw Bram's face, the way it smiled at her and then turned to her mother, who was oblivious that she was being watched, before it faded away entirely. Macey shook her head to clear it.

"Something wrong hon?" Cynthia asked, rising to her feet. 

"Nothing," Macey said, ignoring the sound of something.....cracking. "Anyway, we made breakfast, once again because you slept in." she admonished and Cynthia ruffled Macey's hair. 

"I'm battle weary," she retorted with a smirk and Bram served the two Irving women breakfast. 

"I'll give you two a moment, I'm going to go check on Deeds," Bram said as he excused himself, a hand resting gently on Cynthia's shoulder. "Holler if you need me,"

But he was barely out the front door when he heard both women call for him, and easily incited to panic, Bram rushed back in, ready to fix, fight, defend and protect--- but found both Irving's seated at the table, watching him with beatific smiles. Macey patted the vacant chair. "Sit a while with us? now that you're writing we can have actual conversations, all three of us,"

All three.

Cynthia, Macey and.......Bram moved slowly back towards the table and seated himself, fidgeted, which he didn't usually do, as Cynthia met his gaze, and then his restless fingers stilled. Macey pushed pen and paper towards him. "So, how are you today Bram?"

Me. Bram thought. 

Cynthia, Macey and......no......no.......and yet.......

Something splintered. 

All three of them heard it but pretended not to.


	29. Chapter 29

It wasn't clear which one of them had turned, but Abbie woke up with her face centimetres away from Crane's chest. She blinked slowly, once, twice, letting the close proximity sink in, before trying to figure out how to get away without waking him. 

"Morning Leftenant,"

Abbie's eyes slid upwards and met Crane's gaze, looking down at her, his mouth quirked up on the side. "Uh, sorry," Abbie muttered as she sat up, pointedly rolling away when Crane grabbed her arm. 

"Nonsense, we were quite close last night and you weren't flustered by it,"

"I was facing your back last night,"

"And my front is so very disagreeable?"

"Ugh, Crane," but one glance told her he was teasing her, and enjoying it. 

"I've been up for a bit, actually, examining the spell,"

"Crane?"

"Yes?"

"Can we take today off? no spells etc? I don't think Bram is any imminent danger right now, I think we could all use a day to, recharge,"

Crane released a relieved sigh. "Oh thank goodness, I thought you'd be opposed to the suggestion myself," He enthusiastically plopped the grimoire down on the bedside table. "we get so few moments of, rest."

Abbie's eyes twinkled as she pulled her knees up to her chest. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Must we 'do'? Can we not as you one might say, be? I just want to be, today Leftenant, be absolutely and completely immersed in nothing,"

Abbie quirked a brow and made to get off the bed. "Okay then,"

"Abbie,"

"What is it Crane?"

"I'd like to just be, with you. If you don't mind?"

Abbie sat back down on the bed, swung her legs up and reached for the remote on the hotel tv. "Let's see if anything good is on then, hmm? I'll text Jenny and tell them we're calling a day off,"

******************************

"So Jenny and dad dropped me off here because Abbie and Crane have called a recharge day for everyone to recover from....last night," Macey explained.

Bram whispered aside to Cynthia. "He barely does anything and has the nerve to declare a rest day," and then wrote: Crane didn't even DO anything last night. I"M the one declaring a vacation! and then pounded his fist on the table.

Macey grinned as she read his response and then looked up at her mother. "He's funny. You never mentioned he was funny," 

Cynthia huffed. "It's a fleeting occurrence, don't look forward to it." and Bram elbowed her and she gave him an amused smirk. Macey took in the scene, still incredibly odd, because Bram was, of course, STILL very much so headless, but there was less to be afraid of him now, certainly less mysterious, and the strange glimmers of his face she'd been seeing that morning, well it was easy to see that Bram once indeed was a normal human being, before all of the madness and soul selling and revenge parts. 

"So, it's just us three today,"

Bram paused. Us three. There it was again, this continued referral to them as a unit, but it was impossible, it was a folly and a foolish thing to even entertain, he was a monster. No matter whatever result the restoration spell would yield, the very fact that he had so willingly chosen such a path of destruction, what was to say he was even suited to walk among mortal men ever again? Perhaps there was something fundamentally evil about him. Perhaps that would always be there, no matter what form he took, he might always be a menace, lashing out angrily at those who crossed him, hurting those he cared about---Bram abruptly pushed off from the table and left Cynthia and Macey stunned as he left the kitchen.

"Did I say something wrong?" Macey asked, stung by his sudden departure.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. "He's as fussy as a child, I'll be right back." Cynthia strolled down the halls, knocked on the door of the study, peered inside, found it empty and then continued out to the stables.

"Bram?" She called as she drew near.

"Go back inside with your daughter Cynthia, never mind me,"

"You're very hard not to mind, you have a flair for the dramatic," she pointed out as she entered and found Bram with his back to her, brushing Deeds.

"I just preferred the company of a beast for a moment, to remind me what I am,"

"I'm getting bored of having this conversation with you," 

"Then perhaps you should stop starting it," he replied tersely, brushing Deeds with determined, meticulous strokes. "Perhaps it is time you took to heart my warnings and--"

Cynthia reached for his hand holding the brush and Bram stilled as she lowered his arm and turned him towards her. "I am not running away from you," she said, levelling her gaze with his. "Everyone has two sides to them, you choose what to listen to, and more often than not you chose the human you long to be, rather than the monster you have become." Gently, she took the brush out of Brams hand, clasping it with her own. "You have chosen, numerous times, to encourage, to comfort, and help me, and my daughter, threats aside. You have been an unlikely, and at turns, terrifying, friend to me. And friends don't bolt when things get scary, they stay, they stand beside you,"

"Ichabod--" Bram started and Cynthia tightened her grip and surprised Bram when she jerked him forward, forcing him to step closer to her. 

"Do I look like damn Ichabod Crane to you?" she asked, her eyes fierce. 

Bram swallowed hard as he looked at Cynthia, really looked and thought he might be seeing her for the first time. Her brown eyes, warm, but strong, the angles and planes of her face, he wrenched his hand away the moment his eyes landed on her mouth, staggering away from her, and then was confronted with her form. No, he was not going to do this, he was not going to let himself begin to, of all things, find Cynthia beautiful. He had found a woman beautiful before, and she had played just as much a part in condemning him as Crane. Cynthia, however, was relentless, she advanced on him, cornering him like prey, Deeds whinnied as she crowded Bram against the wall of his stall. "Answer me," she pressed. Bram shook his head tightly. "Say it,"

Bram let out a flustered laugh. "Say what?"

"That I am not Ichabod Crane."

"This is absurd."

"Say it." she commanded, stepping in closer. 

"You, you are not," Bram picked a spot in the distance, over her shoulder to stare at as he spoke. He couldn't meet her eyes. Of course she wasn't Ichabod Crane. She was Cynthia Irving, a newly turned witch, a strong woman within her own right, a woman who had gone from cowering to brave while they had shared the same roof, who had him, HIM! surrounded in the stables, like a country maiden and stable boy. 

"You look me in the eye when you speak to me Bram, you owe me that show of respect,"

Did he mention she was also incredibly astute?

He chanced a glance at her. "You are not Ichabod Crane," he answered in a rush. 

"I am not the man who betrayed you."

"You are not the man who betrayed me,"

"Nor am I the woman who broke your heart,"

"Nor are you the woman who broke my heart," he repeated dutifully. 

"I......At least, I think, after all of this.....I'm, I'm your friend," 

"You're my friend," 

"I trust you."

"You trust me."

"So I need you, to trust me, Bram."

He did. Devil below and God above he trusted Cynthia. When did it come to this? When did a desire to leave the world permanently become a desire to remain in it. When did despair and grief become hope and possibility? But oh, he remembered the spell, the way it could very well back fire, he had had nothing to live for, for so long, that before, if his fate had been to become a sort of, immortal, living statue, he wouldn't have cared. Now, however, now.........

He took Cynthia's hands in his own, ran his fingers along the back of them. 

"I trust you, Cynthia. I'm not a mild mannered man, and I beg your pardon. Even demons have demons," 

Cynthia smiled kindly. "Well you didn't get like this because you were bored on a Saturday night," she teased. 

Ah, that humour. "But, there is one thing, Cynthia."

"Yes?"

"Why did you tell Crane a week? and to come here, for the spell?"

"From what I read of it, you can't possibly become human again, fully, without a soul. And a wound for it to enter back through. I told him a week so I could well, prepare. But, I was hoping, since Crane's betrayal was the catalyst for you selling your soul, that perhaps, if you, forgave him, and he were to wound you, out of trust, a spar, if you will, maybe that act of forgiveness and trust would call your soul back,"

"You thought all of that when you found the book? you couldn't have been looking at it for more than five minutes, if that," he replied, impressed.

Cynthia shrugged. "I'm a lawyer. We think quick, see all the angles, it's what I studied for years to do before my life was so rudely interrupted by that ding dong bell. And you, of course," 

"Forgive me," he smiled.

"Uh so you guys gonna spend the day out here?" Macey, having gotten bored of waiting in the kitchen, had glided through the house, searching for them and had at last come to check the stables, and there was her mother and Bram......holding......hands? When her eyes landed on their clasped hands she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter as the two adults sprang apart. 

"Anyway!" Cynthia exclaimed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Let's, let's, do something shall we? yes, let's go inside Macey and find, something to do, mother- daughter time!"

"Oh?" Macey chuckled as her mother steered her out of the stables back into the house. "Is Mother-Bram time over?"

"Quiet," Cynthia hissed, scuffing Macey's head.

"I'm going to text this to Jenny,"

"You are NOT"

*****************************  
Macey and Cynthia spent the rest of the day playing magical duets on the piano and tinkering with the remaining spell books in the house. At dinner time her and Macey made a roast, and while Bram was around, in the scene, he mostly let the women have the time to themselves, chiming in now and again, and saw Macey to the door when Frank came to pick her up. Frank sized him up again, giving him the once over and Macey returned to his care, whole, Bram wanted to point out but couldn't, and then asked if he could see Cynthia. Bram froze for a second before calling over his shoulder, Cynthia came to the door, with her hair down, it had a curl to it from being up the night before, wearing a relaxed sweater and leggings and ankle socks. Frank gaped at the sight. Cynthia had never been so.....undone, around him. Never bounding around the house and....relaxed looking, his wife...ex-wife, he corrected, the Cynthia he knew had always been buttoned up and dressed to the nines, dazzlingly professional. He barely recognized this woman at all.

"Hi Frank," she greeted, stepping outside, she waved at Jenny getting Macey settled in. "How are you?"

"I should ask you that," Frank said under his breath. "What are you doing here Cynthia, with him? We can get you out, just get in the car and you're free, we'll sort everything out in Sleepy Hollow,"

"Did you come to rescue me?" Cynthia cooed and Frank bristled at the mocking note in her voice. 

"There are words for this Cynthia, stockholm syndrome is what you've got here,"

"And what do I have at home? hmm?" she fired back, and was pleased to see that Frank had the grace to look at least a bit ashamed. "What am I going back to? not a husband, that's for sure, don't give me that look I already know about Jenny, and I'm okay Frank. I was okay during the divorce, I was okay when you got tangled up in this, I was okay, when, when you died, Frank. And I was okay when you decided to up and get biblical on me and woke from the dead. I was okay when my blood began humming with ever loving witch powers and I got roped into helping Bram, and I was torn up, when I saw you kiss Jenny. You, kissed her Frank. You chose that." Her voice cracked at the end. Bram waited at the door, he wanted so badly to go to her to stand by her at that moment, but this was a moment for them, so he stood watching the exchange unfurl. Macey and Jenny watched from the car. Cynthia tucked a strand behind her ear, glanced over at the car. "But I don't blame you for that, I don't. She loves Macey, and that's all I could ask for, and I like the woman, so that's a bonus too. But don't......don't come in here trying to play hero, Frank." She nodded to Bram watching at the door, her arms folded. "That man, that one, right there, with the missing head, yes that man, saved our daughter's life last night Frank. I think you owe him an apology,"

Bram's nerves were on end, to hear Cynthia defend him, to hear her demand Frank should.....apologize to him, he felt strangely as if he were outside of himself, as if reality wasn't quite.....real. Frank regarded Cynthia with surprise, but quickly rallied before saying in his low confidential drawl, "You still know how to chew my ass out," he smiled.

"Some things you never forget," Cynthia quipped, and Frank drew her into an embrace. 

"I'll always love you, Cynthia. I'm sorry I hurt you,"

"And I you, Frank. And I'm sorry for when I hurt you, too." pulling away, Frank turned towards Bram and strode up to the door,sticking his hand out.

"The lady demands we make nice. Thank you for saving my baby girls life. And protecting Cynthia. I apologize for being hostile,"

Bram took Frank's hand and shook it vigorously, and then, both men saluted each other and Cynthia's heart warmed to see a bridge being built between the two. 

"Alright," Frank rubbed his hands together. "We'll be back tomorrow evening, get this ritual business over with. You rest up," 

"You too. Tell Abbie and Crane I said hi,"

"Will do, Goodnight Cynthia.......Bram," and with that Frank got in the car with Macey and Jenny and drove away. Cynthia watched them go, a gentle evening wind blowing her hair, her insides were in turmoil. It was really was truly over, her marriage had finally passed the point of no return, but still there was something beginning, some tentative blossom was unfurling, as she turned and marched up the front steps, and heard Bram lock the door behind them, Cynthia felt like she was home. 

Inside Bram trailed Cynthia into the kitchen and sat down at the table while she made her evening tea. "Thank you for that," he said.

"What?" she milled about, putting on the kettle, hunting down the peppermint tea, she found it calmed her. For some reason Cynthia especially felt she needed calming tonight.

"For what you said to your husband, defending me,"

"I only told him the truth." Her hand trembled as she poured the water. Bram noticed and silently took the kettle and cup away from her. 

"You sit down, you seem shaky this evening, I can finish your tea,"

"Two sugars--"

"No milk, I know,"

Cynthia blinked. "How would you?"

"I'm observant," Bram grinned as he set the mug down before her, she blew on it before taking a sip. "Don't you dare thank me for the tea," he scolded. 

"It didn't even cross my mind," 

Bram sat down opposite her at the table in silence, just the clinking of Cynthia's spoon in her mug. Bram gazed at her slender fingers gripping the spoon, the curve of her neck, her mouth as she lifted the mug to it. Stop it, he chided himself. Cynthia looked up at him, "So, what will you do? after? if it works?"

"Hmm?"

"What will you do if you get your soul back and become human?"

"Adapt I suppose, like Ichabod did."

"Yes but," Cynthia stopped herself. She would not ask him if he intended to stay in Risen Hearth or go back to Sleepy Hollow, she would not ask if he was going to vanish from her and Macey's life entirely, but, they were friends, after all, that's the sort of information friends would share, wouldn't they? why was she overthinking this?

"I don't know where I'll go," Bram continued. "But, let's focus on the spell working first. No use making plans when there's just as good a chance that I'll become living stonework."

"Of course," Cynthia agreed. "I'm a bit skeptic about trying this out when they have the book and I haven't been able to look it over,"

Bram reached across the table and gripped her hand. "I trust you," Cynthia gripped back and then suddenly Bram rose from his end, pulling Cynthia to her feet, her stomach that just now had been calm began galloping again. "I trust you with my life, be it immortal or mortal," there was a quiet intimacy to his voice, a gentleness, a kindness that she felt had been pouring through since the night before. Somehow Bram had gone from teetering on the brink and plunging back into total and utter darkness, to this careful, considerate creature. Who was too close, she might add, he was standing too close---he touched her cheek, and then unlatched the clasp on the necklace---he had been removing it at night for her peace of mind ever since the first time and restoring it come morning, he'd forgotten to remove it last night, but her dreams had been strangely peaceful. The gem pendant caught the light as he dangled it in the air moment, and Cynthia noticed that the colour was changing, becoming a sort of bright ruby red. Second, she noticed that Bram's face didn't disappear the way it normally did, it was greatly diminished in presence, now visibly much more transparent, but it was there, and that had never happened before, but Cynthia didn't say anything, things were strange enough as it was to start adding to the mix this late in the game. Bram didn't know she could still see him, so when he whispered "Sweet dreams," and his expression was wistful, he had no idea Cynthia had seen it, no matter how faint, and that her heart seemed to flare to life at his words. 

Bram retired to his study. Upstairs, Bram's boots were still on her bedroom floor, at the foot of her bed, and Cynthia was surprised at the strange comfort she felt from seeing them there.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angst and feels, and you know, confessions that aren't meant to be heard.

She had tossed and turned since the moment her head hit the pillow. Cynthia could not sleep. Some weird anxiety kept riling up her heart, some strange twitch made her leg kicks suddenly, she threw off the covers, feeling hot, only to bundle up in them again, feeling unspeakably cold. She couldn't remember the last time her sleep had been so fitful, and considering the offending necklace had been removed, it was especially unclear why rest eluded her so thoroughly. Giving up at last, Cynthia swung her feet out of the bed, and felt possessed to of all things, take a walk. She looked outside her bedroom window, saw the moonlight pouring in and threw on a robe. Common sense dictated that she shouldn't be taking late night strolls outside, but the recent defeat of Famine had bestowed on her a certain fearlessness, a brazen-ess, a surety, that almost nothing could terrify her anymore. 

Hadn't she lived all manner of horrors that had been beyond her imagination? 

She'd divorced the man she loved. Mourned him, only for him to be resurrected. She'd become a witch, was taken captive by the ever loving Horseman of Death, a harbinger of the apocalypse. Had teamed up with said creature to defeat Famine, who had actually infiltrated their home---she should have paused a moment here, to note that she had considered the house 'their home'----had threatened her daughters life, nearly drained her dry, and was now trying to restore this strange new friend that she'd made and----yes, Cynthia was fairly confident nothing could or would ever scare her again. Until Macey started dating. 

So out she went, briskly crossing the grounds and headed to the stables. She inhaled deeply from the crisp night air, her robe wrapped tightly around her. She heard Deeds chuff as she entered, pawing the ground, and she called out to him.

"Whoa boy, it's just me Deeds, it's Cynthia," in the dim light Deeds eyes were dull red orbs, looking at her tenderly. She gently pet him. "I owe you a thank you too, you know, if it weren't for you, we'd have never made it in time, to save my daughter. So thank you," Deeds blinked at her and bobbed his head, as if acknowledging her gratitude. "What happens to you, I wonder," she thought aloud. Deeds shook his head, mane flying. "Well I mean, if Bram stops riding, what will you be? will you be transformed too? Were you ever anything before you were a horse? or will you be just like every other normal horse?" she asked softly, smiling at him. Deeds looked at her balefully, as if to say, 'You, who questioned whether or not my master could be any good, wonder if I could ever be changed?' but Deeds is not the sort of magical that can speak, so he whinnied and again and Cynthia laughed. "Whatever is your fate, or Brams, I wish you both well," and with one last pat, Cynthia made her way back into the house, silently kicking off the flats she'd slipped on and pushing her feet back in her bedroom slippers when her ears perked up. She thought she heard music. 

Carefully edging down the hall, following the gentle melody, Cynthia wandered to the piano room, stopping just outside of it. Bram was playing and beautifully. She hadn't even known he was musically inclined. It occurred to her that there was so much she didn't know about Bram, and yet, his strong values, his fearsome temper, his unexpected tenderness, she somehow felt she knew enough. These other things, like him playing piano, and what food he liked, his favourite books, hobbies, and all those other things, there would be time for that, plenty of time for her to discover---but wait, she had let her mind run away with her. She had let herself imagine some sort of tomorrow where Bram was still engaged in her life. But why shouldn't he be?

Because there was a possibility her soul returning idea wouldn't work at all, and he'd become a work of stone. With seeing eyes, and presence of mind, but immobile, still and alone. How could she resign herself to put him through that fate? but what other option could there be? To remain Headless was to remain always teetering on the edge of a dark beast, but the possibility of condemning him to a new eternity, one encased in rock and granite and stillness, seemed even worse, and for a moment, Cynthia almost sobbed. She wasn't sure she could bare it. They'd all endured enough hadn't they? surely they had all earned something resembling normalcy if not happiness. She watched as he moved with the music, and his voice, unknown to him she could hear his soft lilting voice, singing a beautiful melody she'd be hard taxed to identify, but she couldn't help but be entranced by it, and she stepped closer into the room, and the floor board creaked, giving her away. Alert as he was, Bram turned at the piano, and she saw the way his eyes filled with a warm glow at the sight of her as he scooted over and patted the bench beside him. Hesitantly, she joined him, settling herself on the bench. He gestured to her, twiddling his fingers along the keys, still thinking that she couldn't hear him were he to speak. 

"I don't play, not as well as you," she said, depressing middle c, but using her magic, she charmed the piano to play the tune he had just been playing and Bram turned to her, astonished. 

"How long had you been listening?" he said, and Cynthia ignored the question, because she wasn't sure he should know that whatever charm the necklace had held, had somehow gone awry. 

They sat in silence as the piano played on, the music swirling around the room, she observed Bram's face as he looked at her, then away, opened his mouth as if he wished to speak but then thought better of it. She was about to depart when he spoke. " Goodbye," he said, so softly, so whisper quiet, she thought she'd misheard. He watched his adams apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. "Goodbye," he repeated, with more conviction. Cynthia willed herself not to react. What Bram was about to say was confidential and important, and she wouldn't ruin it, not a chance. "I, I have every confidence in your ability Cynthia but I, I just don't," he broke off in a laugh that was without mirth, looking up at the ceiling. His body remained still, that otherwise, were she blind to him, she'd assume he was still sitting quietly, listening to the music. How many unuttered words and thoughts had he divulged? "I don't believe trust and forgiveness will restore my life, I just, I think I'm beyond that now. And I am afraid. I am just as afraid of an eternity as a statue as I am of an eternity as Death, and twice as afraid of losing you and Macey. You have both---I have---I value you both, and if the spell should fail, I am grateful, and I want to thank you, for the laughter, and the burns," he chuckled at his own joke, and Cynthia couldn't help but crack a small smile, "And the broken dishes, and the swatting, and the outbursts---for being alive while living with a creature of Death.Thank you for giving me that," he reached for her hand, gripped it in his own.

Cynthia listened to these words that he had never meant to say in the light of day, that said so much but weren't ever meant for her ears, though intended for her, and she was overcome with anger, with hurt, with feelings, that a dead man should make her feel of all things---

"Because I am a coward," Bram continued. "And dare not speak it otherwise, I will say it now. In the event the spell should fail I want to tell you I will miss you, very much. I care for you, Cynthia, I dare not plumb the depths of it," 

It was so hard to sit still, to hear the emotion in his voice and pretend to not hear, to not be moved by it Cynthia thought she might combust. She let the last of his sentiment hang in there air, letting it dissipate, letting it vanish, before breaking her own silence. "Dance with me," she was appalled at how small her voice sounded. 

She saw Bram regard her for a moment, as if considering, and then patted her hand before letting go, gesturing to escort her back to her room. It stung, she felt stupid and foolish that she should be offended that he would refuse to dance, that she felt rejected by it. She shouldn't be so wound up by it, shouldn't have such a strong reaction to it but she did, she cared, and the fact that she should care, so much angered her to no end, made her so volatile that she leapt to her feet and pushed past Bram. 

"You go on and on about saying goodbye and being defeated already and all I ask for is one dance and you would deny me that?" her voice is edged with broken vulnerability, masquerading as anger. 

Bram blinked at her in surprise. "You can hear me?"

"And see you,"

"How?"

Cynthia shook her head. "Who knows why, and I don't care, but you can't say things like how deeply you care about me and then refuse to dance with me," the tears well up and let them fall damn it. 

"I could not allow myself to leave you with that macabre memory, dancing with a corpse, what torture would that be to you?"

"Torture?" Cynthia spat incredulously. She shouldn't be arguing, it's late, they have this stupid spell to do tomorrow, but these past two days have unearthed all of these turns in character, has illuminated all of the dark spaces, has ruthlessly run the subtext beneath the small gestures and her mind is overloading. "Torture, is being captured by a monster. Torture, is not knowing the state of your marriage while in captivity. Torture is facing grave danger, Torture is becoming something you never wanted to be, Torture is falling---" she broke off, and saw in his eyes, a tortured soul looking back at her. Torture is that I should care whether you survive the spell or not, she thought to herself. That a part of me needs you to. She averted her eyes and made for the stairwell, storming up it, she would go to sleep, and all of this would be a strange dream, but Bram grabbed her arm at the top of the steps. "Let me go, Bram, just let me sleep,"

"Torture," Bram hissed. "Torture is the possibility of having everything, and the equal likelihood of nothing. Torture is putting faith in someone you trust that they can fix something that you yourself know is beyond repair. Torture is falling," he agreed. The rest need not be said. It hung between them, palpable and unsaid. He reeled her in slowly, giving her time to pull away should she choose to. She moved towards him, because just as quickly as the fight had come, it fled her. He wrapped his arms around her, burying her head in his shoulder. She felt him stroking her hair. "If it works, if by some luck, I can be redeemed," His arms tightened slightly. "we can dance then, and it'll be worth your wait," 

Cynthia leaned her head off of his shoulder, meeting his eyes. He cupped her face, and leaned in, brushing his ghostly lips against her cheek. Cynthia felt nothing more than a coolness against her skin, a cruel reminder of his half life. 

"Go to sleep," he pleaded. 

"Don't let me sleep in," she replied, pushing her door open and letting shut behind her. She sank to the floor, folded her arms and fell asleep with her head on her knees. 

On the other side, Bram drifted off with the necklace clutched in his hand.


	31. Chapter 31

The following morning, was awkward. Cynthia opened the door in the morning, and Bram, like a big log had fallen in her doorway before groaning, rising to his feet and dropping the necklace back over her head. His face solidified, and Cynthia could see the dark circles under his eyes and the grim line of his mouth. "Morning," he croaked by way of greeting before turning on his heel, not giving her a chance to respond. Cynthia's neck itched, and she glanced down at the pendant that had changed colour completely to the red of a rose, and the shape of the gem itself seemed to have morphed over night, splintering in odd directions, as if taking on a new shape.....Cynthia erased the thought from her mind, tried to forget that yesterday, and especially last night had happened. If she let her mind linger and wander there she'd never have the concentration required for the spell today. Today. 

Today.

Whatever happened, her bizarre journey would end today. Well. All.....things....must come to an end. Cynthia couldn't quite bring herself to say 'good' from day one everything had been utter chaos. It had never crossed her mind however that she had thrived on it. No matter. She took a shower and dug around for something to wear. What does a witch wear to perform a big spell? she wondered. She might as well dress for the occasion. She eventually hunted down a blue shift dress---why get a decent gown dirty?--and tied her hair back in a low ponytail with a ribbon, she slipped her feet in her flats and quietly went downstairs. 

In the kitchen, Bram sat a the table, his hands knit contemplatively, and defiantly avoiding her gaze. He wore a billowy white shirt, brown breeches, more relaxed attire than she was used to seeing him wear. In painful silence she maneuvered around the kitchen, her tea, toast, and a fruit. She ate it opposite him at the table, still quiet, eating slowly and deliberately only because she was sure if she hurried she'd throw up. She felt so incredibly nauseated and confused, had only two days turned her insides upside down? It had all seemed so straight forward before, when had it changed? How dare she ALLOW it to change? Finishing at last, Cynthia cleared her dishes. Bram remained stoically at the table. There were too many things said in the mournful dark of night that should never have been uttered for them to face each other calmly today. She doubted she had the strength for another emotional tirade, and by the looks of it, neither did he, and yet.......

Sighing, Cynthia broke the silence. And yet, she'd need to give him instructions for when the others arrived. "You'll need to forgive Crane," she said, cutting to the chase. Bram nodded curtly. "Fully forgive him, from the depths of.....yourself," she lectured. 

"I have made my peace with it."

"You're positive? Because if there's any chance this is going to work you have to mean it---"

"You'd be surprised how strongly motivated I find myself this morning to make this work, Cynthia. Grudges tend to flee when you haven't the will to hold them. A hardened heart to mush when some, determined and intrusive spirit lodges itself in it," he spat venomously. 

He meant Cynthia, they both knew it, and Cynthia knew she wasn't about to get anything more straightforward out of Bram than him admitting she'd somehow, vexingly managed to wheedle into his heart, and that was the prime force behind his resolve now. Even as scathing as he was pretending to be presently.....even if they were on uneven footing, he wanted to succeed today because there was something there between them. She dare not deny it anymore. It was there, and tentative, and volatile and all bound up in magic, and neither could or would say the exact words until there was some insurance they wouldn't be hurt.....or left terribly scarred after today. 

They couldn't risk that.

So Cynthia pursed her lips and nodded, she hunted for a white apron, tying that on around her waist, and when the knock at the door announced the arrival of the others, it was quite clear then that there was no turning back now.


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not going into deets about putting the head back on. Soul restoration is what we're about here folks!
> 
> and time moves quickly in this chapter.

"Alright, let's go. Crane, Bram and I go with Cynthia to discuss the particulars. Macey Jenny and Frank, start mixing. We don't need a full moon but we do need the noon day sun, time is of the essence. Understood?" Abbie inquired. 

All of the faces turned to one another, nodding once.

"Alright," Abbie smiled, rubbing her hands together. "Let's get this man his soul back"

*******************************************

Cynthia wrung her hands as she read the spell, once, twice, thrice, she knew it word for word by now. She glanced at the clock, it was 11:30. They'd all taken a break, a moment to collect themselves, and most certainly for Cynthia to find a regular breathing pattern. She was sitting on her bed, book in hand, murmuring the incantation to herself when she heard her door open. 

"You've got to be kidding me," she sighed, exasperated as Bram edged into the room. "whatever it is, it can wait---it will wait, you're going to break my concentration," she scolded as he came over and sat down beside her. "Bram would you please give me a mo---"Bram held a finger to her lips.

"You could talk a mans head off, did you know that?" and somehow, he managed to smile. Cynthia narrowed her eyes at him. "We were less than kind this morning. I am sorry I didn't have the nerve to talk to you before, rather than whispering in the shadows. But you do owe me an apology for eavesdropping,"

Cynthia glared at him. "Eavesdropping!" she exclaimed and Bram laughed. "Oh!" and she smacked his shoulder, hard enough that he winced. "You wait till you have your head back, I'll knock you into next week,"

"God willing, you'll get the chance to do just that." he said with a grin and rose to his feet, offering her his hand, "Come on, spell needs to be said and me wounded at the stroke of noon."

"And an hour for the spell to set, and your soul to return." Cynthia ignored the offered hand, stood, hefted the grimoire and shook herself out. "Here we go. But let's put that thing you call a head back on first,"

*****************************************

Downstairs in the piano room, Crane warmed up with a rapier, flicking his wrist, and threw one to Bram as he crossed the threshold. The two men met in the middle of the room, stock still for a beat before amends started being made. 

"I ask your forgiveness Abraham, for my disregard and disrespect to both your heart and pride. I was once a true friend to you, I hope to be one, once again."

"I accept your apology, Ichabod, I.....I understand the desperation a man feels to be with a woman he.....deeply cares for" Bram replied, his gaze sliding over to Cynthia, and her neck felt hot. She cleared her throat. 

"Macey? pen and paper? I forgot the others wouldn't have heard that," While she had affixed the terrifying thing back to Bram's shoulders, and it was already starting to fill out with flesh and hair proper, the physical mechanics of his voice eluded him in a way that his spirit voice did not. 

Macey summoned a pen and scrap and Bram quickly wrote down his response, handing it over to Crane who read it, his eyes filling with wistful tears. He lowered his voice and leaned in to Bram, approximating where his ear would be. 

"It's her isn't it? You Lo--"

Bram gently shoved Crane back a step. 

"I ask for your forgiveness, for what I became, before God and man I confess my sins and misdeeds and reject the evil and darkness, and to start anew, I forgive you, wholeheartedly, through and through. May we be comrades again," he spoke it for Cynthia's benefit who nodded encouragingly at him, a proud smile on her face. Bram then wrote what he had said, again offering it to Crane. Crane nodded, bit his lip, and then offered his hand to Bram, they shook heartily and paused a moment before drawing one another into an embrace, clapping each other on the back. 

"Now, a friendly spar," Crane smiled. They shook again and then began circling around the room. A thrust. Parry. Block. Thrust. Block. leap. someone side stepped. The blades clanged. The room was deathly quiet as these two engaged in their little dance. Crane breaking a sweat and a smile on his face, and Cynthia could see a sort of school boy joy spreading across Bram's face. This was good for them. Like old times. Block. Clang. A quick turn. Abbie called to Cynthia across the room eyeing her watch. 'Now' she mouthed, and Cynthia began to recite, quietly, at first, and Macey joined in with her. She felt the air humming around her, steadily, steadily, increasing in volume as Crane and Bram duelled. Like the thrum of the string section, and a growing roar, like a drum coming over a hill, Abbie crossed the room with Jenny, each joining a hand with Cynthia and Macey, feeling power and energy course through them.

11:55

"Come now Abraham, do better than that," Crane taunted cheerfully

Bram smiled to himself, lunging again.

11:57

"Return, return," the women intoned.

11:59

Ichabod lunged once more and Bram felt it, the slightest sting across his chest, a small red blossom on his shirt. Barely a flesh wound, but hopefully it would be enough. The spell hadn't said he needed a whole carved in his chest. Crane dropped his sword. 

"Abraham? Abraham!" he yelled as Bram's legs buckled and he caught his friend before he hit the floor, laying him down gently on his back.

"Return!" the power swelled, filling the room and exploded outwards and around them. Only then was Cynthia released from the trance to take in the sight of Bram on the floor. His eyes were fluttering, darting, as if trying to find focus. 

12:00

Jenny glanced around the room, locking eyes with the others as Cynthia went to Bram on the floor, sinking to her knees. 'Did it work?' she mouthed. Abbie mouthed back.

'we won't know for an hour,"

Tentatively Cynthia took Bram's hand in hers. "Bram?" she called softly. "Can you hear me?" 

His eyes flickered toward her, searching. What's happening? what now?

She patted his hand, kept her voice steady. "We'll know by one. An hour for the soul to, answer, I guess." she smiled weakly, trying to encourage him, but she was already concerned about how suddenly stiff, his fingers were. 

"Shall we keep vigil with Miss Irving?" Crane queried. All of them turned their eyes on the quiet scene of Cynthia by Bram's side....the intimacy of it. 

Frank spoke up. "Perhaps we better get him some place comfortable, till he wakes up."

"My room," Cynthia said, not taking her eyes off Bram. Her voice even but tight. 

Crane met eyes with Frank. "Alright. Everyone grab a limb, let's go"

****************************************

Upstairs they laid out Bram on Cynthia's bed, watched in respectful silence as she sat by him. Time dragged on. They kept watching the clock tick steadily. They toyed with their phones. They read books they'd brought with them. They silently chewed snacks they'd brought, very slowly, very carefully. To Cynthia's eyes, Bram looked pale. His eyes had stopped their frantic roaming and seemed to stare aimlessly into the ceiling above. She wedged her hand in his once more, still not liking the heavy leaden feeling of them, the stiffness of the digits, the rigidity. 

"Bram?" she whispered. He barely twitched. Cynthia looked over her shoulder at the others gathered in the room, quietly ignoring their private scene. She licked her lips and leaned in "don't you dare turn into granite after everything you put me through. Stay with me,"

******************************************

At 12:57 his boots began to turn grey, racing and spreading up his legs, stone solidifying and creeping up his torso.

Cynthia gripped his shirt in her hands, panic taking hold of her heart. "No. No Bram do you hear me? you will not do this, come back," her voice cracked as she watched the stone climbing along his arms, up his shoulders. "Stop it!" she snapped, patting his cold face with her free hand. "Stop it!"

The group watched, quiet and astonished at what was happening before their very eyes. Bram was becoming stone. Tears unexpectedly welled in Abbie's eyes. She gripped Crane's hand. "We did everything right, I don't understand,"

Jenny clung to Franks arm, her mouth screwing up in what could become a sob in any moment. Frank clamped his hand on Macey's shoulder. Macey who wouldn't look away, even though her eyes were blurred with tears. 

"Bram you promised me a dance, you vowed to keep me safe," Cynthia knew she sounded hysterical, even to her own ears but she didn't care, she was hysterical. She was torn up and horrified that they had failed. The necklace around her neck was glowing brightly, she heard cracking and shattering but she was sure it was just her own heart fragmenting. 

12:58

"No," Cynthia cried softly and stone raced up his neck, across his cheeks. "Bram,"

Abbie tugged Crane's sleeve. "Let's go," 

Quickly, they all left and Cynthia rested her head on the cool, unforgiving, unyielding, damning stone surface of Bram's chest. Cynthia inhaled deeply, tears making rivulets down her cheeks. She would remember this for the rest of her life. 

"I love you," 

Her necklace took the form of a rose and then exploded. A million tiny red shards rained down around them.

The clock struck 1:00


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bram's thoughts as he turned to stone.

The initial bite of his wound from Crane had been nothing, truly. The bead of blood, the tear in his shirt. Petty, insignificant. There was a moment in which he almost, almost doubted it would be enough. 

But then strength fled him. 

His infallible might, his flaming power and endurance abandoned him swiftly and his legs buckled and down he went, hearing, faintly, the wild call of Crane as Ichabod caught him in his arms before he smacked his newly attached, repairing skull on the hard floor. The chanting had made the room hum with power, and the last exultation of it seemed to have taken all of the air out of the room. He was still. Immobile, paralyzed, his expressive mechanics froze. No words. No gestures. Just his eyes, flitting frantically to and fro, because the sudden redirection from being upright to laid out on the floor had thoroughly disoriented him, not to mention the nagging wheedling feeling of magic scurrying through him, prying and prodding, looking for ways to knit and mend, reaching out it's enchanted tendons to call back a soul they'd tried to conjure through forgiveness and trust. 

Cynthia's face loomed above him. "Bram?" she called. He had wanted to answer, to assure her, assuage the wild fearful gleam in her eyes. "Can you hear me?" Yes, he'd wanted to nod, pat her hand, smile! anything! He wasn't by any means fine but to see her like that! so worried and tentative, trying so hard to be hopeful and calm it was rending whatever remained of his heart. He wanted to ask what he should expect, what happened next, and she seemed to understand him, reminding him they'd have to wait an hour and see if they'd successfully managed to summon his soul back. But there was nothing to be done, on his part. He couldn't do anything if he had a clue, stiff as he was. They swiftly had transported him to Cynthia's room, laying him out on the bed, and if he could have he'd have a made a smart remark about it.

But this was not the time for wit and flustering and teasing at feelings they hadn't been brave enough to clearly define. This was the time to wait. To hope.

****************************

He hadn't been prepared for it, for one. He had considered himself paralyzed before but the stone coursing through him, the hardening rigidity, the stoic, cold, emptiness of the thing, he hadn't been prepared for. The way breath ceased. The way his heart stopped, mid pump, sealed over with concrete, cement stemming the flow in his veins. Cynthia's broken voice over his form, her constant, desperate calling, the clawing for his hand and then the way she threw her head on his chest, and Bram had never known pain like he did then. The unbearable agony of wanting to cry, to speak, to sob and his bodies unwillingness to comply. I love you, he thought, with everything in him sealed and bound and wound tight, his throat blocking, but his eyes, still open, glaring at the ceiling above. I love you, Cynthia. He thought again, her voice became dull, far away, and he thought it a trick of the spell, the stone stopping up his ears, when he heard her call to him. 

"I love you,"

Her necklace shattered into ruby red fragments around them, a reddish gold glow hovering all around them like a mist.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Funny thing about selling ones soul

There's a peculiar drive to selling a soul. A strange motivation that one might not otherwise suspect, and surely it is easily overlooked when you examine the price that they paid for such a thing. Surely, no one would wish for such a show of devotion--and yet. 

And yet,

Once there was a young man, Frederick who had so loved a girl, Nora, a household servant, with skin like caramel, and hair like curling ebony ropes. Who was so envied even by the fairer skinned, that his soon to be brother in law had hunted her down one evening on her way home from the market, and had attacked her, leaving her legs scarred. Frederick was so distraught, so enraged that he was being forced to marry the pale and wickedly jealous Evangeline, and into her ruthless and renown family, that when the demon appeared to him, promising that in exchange for Frederick's soul, he would be able to carry Nora far far away from anyone who would ever wish to do her harm again, keeping her safe, and that Frederick would always be able to care for the those descended from her blood line, he hadn't thought twice about it.

Even though Nora had been petrified of the wild horse that had carried her away, depositing her at a safe house, she had been grateful for the escape, though she mourned the loss of the man that had earned her the violence she had suffered, it took her some time to heal. But as a token, some haphazard leftover, Nora found she had a penchant for enchantment, a rapport with magic, and she began study with a woman named Grace. Eventually, Nora married, and she bore a girl. And that girl, bore two, and so on. And the first born girl of each generation looked like Nora, with her coiling dark hair, and caramel skin, and bright eyes, and each one bore a scar, or impairment of her legs. A mark that would protect her from jealous adversaries, and would foster her need to grow strong, to master her abilities.

And years later, Fredericks sacrifice had enabled a young woman named Elaine to bare two girls. The first of which had difficulty walking and died young, a weak heart, and over exertion in her magical study had carried her swiftly from the world. The second, able bodied, head strong, with a storming, crackling, dormant power long forgotten inside her---Elaine had erased her second daughters memory of magic--- she grew to be a confident woman, she became a lawyer, she married a Captain Frank Irving, and she bore a girl, and her name, was Macey. 

And Frederick had all but forgotten this part of the demon's bargain, that he might become human again, should his master find love. 

Throw a 200 yr nap in the mix and he hadn't thought it possible. But there were roses blooming in his mane. 

And Toby, the misguided soul he had been, though wicked, he too had traded his soul for the love and safety of his little brother.

And Abraham Van Brunt, who we charge with high treason of humanity, who sold his soul for petty revenge......sold it only out of the desperation and sorrow of a wounded heart. Sold his soul, in the righteous hope to reclaim the woman who had so captured him. Sold it, for love. 

That love, which his soul became, bound up and wrapped in a woman who would not return it, that love, that coldly turned on him, stubbornly fled from and eluded him, that love, that had become a potent, magical thing, that had hovered around him as a tool, not his, still belonging to another, that love, that poured into a jewel, and gave the object of his hearts desire the means to see his face.

That love, that worn around another's neck warred with her psyche, tormented her with old voices, old and buried unresolved emotions. That love, that began to turn, once more, from the cold and murky jealous green to vibrant pulsing, ruby red renewal, to healing, to rebirth to new love. That old gem, that carried within it a new torch, that power that had been allotted new meaning, stronger, like a passionate burning blaze, that transcended it's previous boundaries.

That gem, that cracked, every time the power changed, splintered and crackling loudly, with every barrier broken, every bridge forged, every heart that warmed and every eye that opened. 

That jewel, that ruby, that leaked out its new potency, that rendered it's former casing nearly powerless, that the woman who it now keened for, could see him without wearing it. 

That jewel, which shifted, transforming, blossoming, glowing, like a heart repairing a soul turning from darkness to light, from grudge to forgiveness, from love lost to love found.

That rose, that upon hearing the incantation, the words uttered by both parties, thundering in ones mind, and roaring in the others voice, shattered and released the new soul. Warm, glowing, eager and keen, it hovered around them, a warm glow, before settling like dust on the stone form, finding a crack in the facade and trickled in, each particle floating, melting-----

***************************

Cynthia's wail of despair had reached them before they were downstairs, but they had decided to give her a moment. A breath to breathe. A sob to heave. Macey had gone to the stables, needing air, needing the comfort of something familiar, and she was brushing Deeds, reaching up to his thorny mane, when a red petal fluttered to the ground, and another.

Another.

Another. 

Macey blinked her eyes in confusion, looking at Deeds as the thorns of his mane began to bloom roses, dozens of them. Her eyes widened, and she rolled back from him, petrified in both awe and fear, it was both beautiful and unnerving, unexplained as it was why a demon horse would begin sprouting flowers when---

Deeds vanished.

And in his place, there was a young man.

His hair was dark and curling ruby red strands shining in between, his eyes warm and glittering, shimmering rose petals fluttered on his shoulders. His smile was bewildered and then kind.

Macey gaped at him. "Who--who---who are you?" already there was ice gathering in her fingers, prepared to attack. The last young man who had turned up on their land had tried to chop her legs off and call it doing her a favour. 

The man raised his hands above his head, a show of no harm. "My name is Frederick," he answered, and his eyes kept roaming her face. He might not be any older than seventeen, at most. "You look just like her," he noted. "I never thought the demon would keep his word,"

"Demon?" Macey echoed. 

Frederick looked sheepish. "Long ago, I traded my soul to protect a woman I loved. I became that demon steed, I took her to safety, and the demon I had bargained with had vowed I would be able to look after her descendants, and my humanity restored if my master found love. You, you are descended from my dear Nora," he fell into a deep bow before her and Macey felt her face flush. 

"All along? you were Deeds?"

"Yes, Miss Macey. And I thank you for the name change, I might keep it, if you don't mind?"

"Wait." Macey held up a hand, thinking. "If your....spell is broken, then that means---"

Frederick grinned at her. "Yes, Macey. Abraham has found love. He is awake and alive,"


	35. Chapter 35

It felt like fire, live molten lava coursing through his veins. His soul flooded in, warm, gushing, lighting the hearth in his heart and stoking embers in his limbs. Heat flooded him, the rush of blood began again, all that was solidified began fluid, mobile, his lungs expanded like bellows. His heart began to beat again, slowly thudding and gaining speed, catching up to a regular pace. He wiggled his toes in his boots. WIGGLED HIS TOES. The relief flooding him was almost too much to bear, to contain, but he dare not express elation, not yet, magic could be a cruel thing, there might be some trick to it yet, and yet. He was breathing. His heart was beating. His lips, HIS LIPS parted for a moment for a quiet exhale. Still, he could barely moved. He twitched the fingers of his left hand, testing, but remained as still as he could bear. But Cynthia had felt his chest rise, ever so slightly, and could hear his heart beating life and slowly, her fingers trembling, she lifted her head to look up at him. Bram kept his eyes studiously trained on the ceiling as he felt the bed shift beneath him as Cynthia crawled closer to be at level with his face. 

And when she appeared before him. 

When his eyes gazed into hers. When he saw her tear stained cheeks, and fresher tears yearning to spill. When he reached a hand to up, brushed them away with his thumb and Cynthia caught his hand in hers, stared at it, as if she'd never seen a hand before, and pressed her other hand to his cheek. 

"That had better be you," she said, whisper soft, quiet and tentative, like a secret she couldn't bare to tell. "Because if it's not,"

"Cynthia," his voice was a little raspy, a little croaky but it was his, and she recognized it, like a chord she knew in a song she loved. "It worked," he continued, watching her eyes widened as she dropped his hand and threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling, grasping, making sure for herself. Whole, alive. Bram's eyes fluttered closed at the contact. It had been so long since he had felt fingers in his hair, caresses of his face---and then Cynthia pulled back, heaving him up by his arms with incredible force so that he was sitting up right and latched her arms around him. His own arms curled fiercely around her. She had her hands knit in his locks and grasping his shirt, and his own hand was pressing against her hair so hard he could feel her skull. He could feel the knobs of her spine he was holding her so tight. Their embrace bordered on excruciating pain but that pain was their only assurance that this was real. That against all odds, they had managed to prevail. 

"It was you," he murmured, still holding her close. "My soul is you, my love for you," He heard when Cynthia's breath hitched and he pulled back. "You said you wouldn't run from me,"

Cynthia scoffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "And I won't. Not after that. You're more trouble than you're worth," she smiled. " but I'll only take what you're willing to give,"

Bram pressed his forehead to hers, his hand moving to her cradle her jaw. "Cynthia you----"

"Bram!" 

They jerked apart, because there was Macey and Frank, Crane, Jenny, Abbie, and......

"Who are you?" Bram was quick to his feet though he swayed for a moment before steadying himself. The stranger bowed.

"Frederick Deeds, a pleasure," 

Bram sputtered. "Did he say Deeds?"

Macey nodded. "I'll tell you that story downstairs," she rolled towards him and threw her arms wide. "Welcome back Bram" she smiled.

Bram looked over at Cynthia, who motioned encouragingly for him to go on, and then to Frank, who nodded as well, and then he stooped and embraced Macey. And it felt wonderful to be apart of something. Included. Accepted......loved. 

It was only a moment before the others crowded in around him, smiling, laughing, embracing. Bram had friends now. Family........and

Cynthia came over and casually slung her arm through his. Like an announcement, a proclamation, as she leaned her head on his shoulder. He patted her hand curled around his arm and caught her twinkling sly gaze before she reached up and slapped him, hard.

"Ouch!" he exclaimed, shocked but thrilled that he had felt it. "What was that for?"

"Remember how I promised to knock you into next week?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not done yet folks, after all, these two haven't even had their first kiss yet.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First kiss!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagined this a million ways with a bunch of scenery with the other characters, but in the end, these characters really needed this moment, and you guys deserve better than me flubbing a lead in scene to it, they've waited too long, you've waited too long, even I have waited too long at this point, so, hope you enjoy!

They celebrated late into the night, and slowly, pair by pair, the others drifted off into the guest rooms, Frederick Deeds, still shaking some of his more equestrian tendencies had opted to sleep in the stables. Bram had excused himself moments before the others started heading to bed, headed to the study, and had seated himself behind the desk, staring at the window across the room. Cynthia, always with a keen eye had watched them all go, bid them goodnight, left the dishes from the cake and dinner and the wine glasses on the table, and then softly padded down the hall until she saw the light beneath the study door. Gently, she rapped on it.

"Come in," Bram's voice sounded grave and tentatively Cynthia entered. His hair was in a loose pony tail, he had changed earlier before dinner into a clean shirt, something in a more modern style that Jenny and Abbie had been thoughtful enough to bring him. Cynthia had shucked the shift dress earlier as well, opting for jeans and a loose knit sweater, had put her hair up in a bun to keep it out of her face when they'd all been pitching in to make dinner. "Not sleepy?" Bram asked as he held a hand out to her and Cynthia crossed the room and took it.

"I could ask you the same, oh!" she squeaked as Bram tugged on her hand and Cynthia found herself in his lap. She floundered to rise for a moment, but he had already locked an arm around her, securing her in place. She huffed. 

"We're past this, aren't we?" he asked. "All of this come come, go away, back and forth? is this too near?"

Cynthia glared at him in response and Bram chuckled, leaning in, he inhaled deeply and sighed. "I worry," he began slowly. "I worry that I do not know myself, any longer,"

"It's been a long day," Cynthia supplied. "You're overwhelmed," Bram shook his head.

"No, Cynthia, it's, how do I explain it? What if, what if everything you saw in me, what if some of that was actually, 'Death's' magic? what if my courage and fervour and intensity was really all the demon? Cynthia what if," his gaze locked with hers, his eyes were so sad. "I can't smell you anymore either, your magic used to smell like the earth and taste like natural pure honey, I feel a disconnect in that. Once we were both powerful beings, and that power was an extension of us, something you could feel and experience."

Cynthia's brow furrowed. She didn't like the way his mind was tending. "Bram," she started.

"What if I'm not what you think I am? what if you don't really care for me," Bram stressed, and his voice was so broken, riddled with so much doubt and Cynthia felt a wave of barely contained rage.

"Stop it," she hissed. "You stop it right now and you listen to me," she grasped the collar of his shirt and leaned in so that she was little more than a breath away. "When I thought I'd lost you today, when--" and unexpectedly, she choked up, tears startled to her eyes, Bram reached to wipe them but she slapped his hand away. "no, no you need to see these because maybe then you'll believe they're real," She swallowed thickly before continuing, never looking away from Bram's eyes. "When I saw you turn to stone," the word stone itself came out heavy, laden with grief and horror, "When I felt, felt your fingers go stiff, in my grasp, when I put my head on your cold, hard, concrete chest, and heard nothing, nothing!" Cynthia gasped, shocked anew with the pain she'd felt only earlier that day. "When I wept, Bram. I did not weep for your power. Look at me," she commanded when Bram's gaze dropped and his eyes snapped back up to hers, shining with an emotion that he couldn't even rightly define. "I wept for the loss of someone I'd fought with, and fought for, I wept for our banter, I wept for your arms that couldn't comfort me, for kisses I wouldn't get, for the dance we didn't have. I wept for you, Bram. Not the flaming axe and the temper that came with it. I wept for the coward that confessed feelings to me only when he thought I couldn't hear. I wept for that man Abraham Van Brunt. That man that I didn't dare say I loved until it was almost too late. You, Bram. I wept because I. Love. You." she inched her hand up to touch his face, reaching up to his hair, she leaned her forehead against his. "Before Macey and the others came in," she licked her lips. "What were you going to say to me?"

Bram's heart was hammering so hard and what a relief that it could hammer at all he almost couldn't hear what she'd asked. He braced a hand against her back. "I was going to say that you, Cynthia, my love, you have, all of me," and he tipped his head up so his lips could meet hers. 

Something like a channel opened up in their hearts, in their minds. So soft, Bram's mind whispered. So sweet. Their kisses were sweet, gentle, fluttering things, one chasing after another, longer and longer in length, and each time their lips collided, a thought stole across to the other.

How can I show you? a swipe of tongue

Touch me, came the answer, a hand clasped and draped around a shoulder. A graze of teeth.

Let me fall. A soft moan.

Fall with me. Arms locked tight. Lips caressed, lips savoured. 

I smell the earth, I can taste---

Closer. A switch in movement, a body plunked on the edge of the desk and Bram's hands were splayed on either side of her hips as he hovered near her neck.

"Stop me," he murmured. "Stop me, if this is too much," 

Smiling wickedly Cynthia wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him closer. "Do you believe me now?" she asked, her lips brushing his ear. She released a shuddering sigh as she felt his lips press to her neck, trailing along to her collarbone, across and up her chin, up to her mouth, tugging her bottom lip gently with his teeth. His eyes shone with a truth he didn't dare believe. 

"I believe you. And believe me when I say the love I feel for you, Cynthia, is more complete and powerful than anything I once thought I knew," he closed the gap again before she could answer, they'd found a rhythm, just gentle enough, exploratory enough, passionate enough, but most importantly, slow, slow and steady. Small breaks for air during which Bram kissed her fingertips and Cynthia twirled hair that had come loose of it's binding around her finger. 

"You're going to need a hair cut," she mused as his lips found hers again.

"Don't even think about it," he replied. 

Cynthia made a low sound in the back of her throat that sent a thrill through Bram. "As if you could stop me," she rasped and just like that, their positions were much changed and reversed, with Bram lying lengthwise along the desk and Cynthia above him, she had his hands trapped in hers above his head. 

Bram's eyes twinkled with amusement. "I'm going to find myself at a disadvantage with you from now on aren't I?" Cynthia trailed kisses along his jaw and hummed as she went. 

"It's very likely," she promised as she put some of her weight on him, just enough for him to groan.

"Temptress," 

Once more Cynthia magically flipped them so her back was on the desk and Bram had her caged in. "How about this?" she asked. Bram smirked and nodded towards her chest. 

"The latter gave me a better view,"

"Oh!" Cynthia stifled a giggle and squirmed as he kissed his way down the bare skin to just the edge of her v-necked sweater. Her heart was roaring. Bram looked up at her and kissed that same spot, again, again.

"I think, I can, taste, your heartbeat," he muttered between kisses. 

"What amazes me," Cynthia breathed as he released her hands so his would be free to skim her sides "Is that moments ago you were so ready to fling yourself into despair, and all it takes is me becoming an emotional mess for you to snap out of it---you have a thing for damsels in distress? weak types? because I'm not the one,"

Bram stopped abruptly, dismounted the desk and pulled Cynthia into an upright position. "You, are strong, brave, smart the furthest thing from a damsel in this world. I love you for you, and it just so happens that hearing you speak of how much you care for me"

"Love" Cynthia corrected because he needed to get used to understanding that.

"How much you love me," he amended. "Is incredibly inspiring, and.....attractive. I want you" he added. "I need you. But I don't want to rush,"

Cynthia kissed him again. "I could just kiss you like this for the rest of the night, until the sun rises. This is enough for me, right now. I don't want to rush either." she ran her hands up his arms, feeling the strength in them. There was a moment were they were just gazing into the other's eyes and slowly smiles crept across their faces. Pure, uncomplicated happiness.

Bram pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then her palm, her wrist, and began working up the length of her arm, pushing the sleeve up as he went Cynthia giggled and felt absolutely silly, and when he could go no further he wrapped that arm around his neck as well as the other locking his own arms around her waist. Their kisses went on, eventually Bram's hand snaked up the back of her shirt, but only to feel the heat of her skin there, and he trailed a finger up her spine, drawing patterns on her lower back and Cynthia tugged him impossibly closer needing the solidity of him, the nearness until she decided to magic up pillows and blankets on the floor of the study. Breaking away from him, she grasped Bram's hand and led him to the little comfy cozy haven she had created and he sat down first and Cynthia crawled into his lap, Bram reached up and undid the tie holding her hair up, and ran his fingers through it, taking in the beauty of her whole face. 

"I think I'm addicted to you," he whispered as their lips met for what must have been the hundredth time. Cynthia smiled at him caressing his face, kissing his cheeks and eyelids before turning and wrapping his arms around her, leaning her head on his shoulder. 

"I think I'm....besotted," she sighed happily, as she reached for a blanket, carefully draping it over both of them. Bram nuzzled her hair, kissed her temple, clasped a hand with hers across her abdomen. He watched her eyes flutter, a sure indication that she would nod off any second. 

"I think, actually, Cynthia," he smiled to himself. "That I've been, bewitched,"


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in the guest rooms.
> 
> Because fluff. That's honestly the only reason this exists. I promise better updates coming soon. 
> 
> Once more thank you to everyone who has been reading, you're amazing <3

Abbie checked the hall as she skipped out of the bath in her towel to the guest room, swiftly closing the door behind her. 

"Miss Mills?" a choked voice made Abbie's blood run cold. No no no, there was no way she had just skipped into Crane's room. Dripping from head to toe, with the towel clutched tight to her form, she very slowly, and deliberately turned. 

Ichabod was seated on the edge of the bed, his hair was down, still damp from his own bath, he was shirt less, which was no big deal because she'd seen that before, hell she'd been in her bra in front of him before.....but she was naked under that damn towel and that was a whole other story. He tried, and failed not to gape at her.

"I believe I must have taken a wrong turn," he said in a rush. Which was a lie, and they both knew it, because there were Crane's garments laid out on the chair, and Abbie's belongings were no where to be found. It was sweet of him to try and save face for her though, and she almost, almost smiled. Rising from the bed, grabbing for his coat and shirt, Crane reached around her, with visible strain. "Pardon me, Miss Mills,"

"My clothes aren't in this room," Abbie stated, matter of fact. "I made the mistake and you know it. But thanks for trying," and then she did smile, a light up the room sort of smile and if Crane wasn't flushed before he was now. 

"Ahh, yes, well, off you go!" he chimed too enthusiastically as he spun Abbie around towards the door, and that was when she gave way too chuckling as she exited and made it back to her room. 

*******************

A knock. "Yeah?" Abbie called as she braided her hair. 

"Are you decent?" 

"Well more so than I was earlier," Abbie snickered and Ichabod came in. He had thrown back on his shirt and he padded into the room with his bare feet. 

"I apologize for.....earlier,"

"I picked the wrong door Crane, don't worry about it." 

She gazed into the mirror and saw him in the reflection behind her, the calm look on his face. "You seem, happy,"

"It is good to know that at last something has been set right, without having to destroy anyone or anything in the process. And that love is so powerful."

Abbie smiled because she knew exactly what he was talking about. She'd seen the light in Bram's eyes as he looked at Cynthia, the comfortable and relaxed way she latched on to him in turn. There was something fluid, at ease, right about them. "They both seem very happy. I'm glad Abraham has a second shot at the love he should have had. And I'm glad we decided to give him that," 

Crane nodded, fidgeting as he cleared his throat."In the end, I suppose we all deserve a second chance,"

"I don't always like the principle," Abbie confessed. "But more or less, it's true," she finished and turned around to face him. 

"I am very, pleased to have my friend returned, and in such good humour. I should like to have that happiness for myself,"

"You will, Crane" Abbie came over to sit next to him, taking his hand in hers, threading their fingers together. "You're a worthwhile man, and some woman one day will be the perfect match for you," 

"My highest aim of late, Miss Mills, is to be worthy of my ideal."

"You talk as if you've found her already," she teased, bumping him with her shoulder and dropping his hand but he grabbed for hers again lifting it to his heart. "Crane," she swallowed. 

"I have found her already Miss Mills." his voice was low and confidential, his penetrating gaze fixed on her. "She's sitting right in front of me," 

A million thoughts crossed her mind. Run. Laugh. Spring up in joy. Fall down in despair. Disregard it. Shut him out. Turn away. But something cut through her thought process, stronger, louder. 

Stay.

Be still.

So Abbie sat perfectly still as Ichabod tucked a loose strand behind her ear, trailing his hand down her shoulder before leaning in, slowly, as if he was giving her time to bolt and when their lips met, softly, briefly, Abbie felt something within her heart give. She twined her arms around him, weaving her hands in his hair and kissed him again. Another, and another, in sets, as if the kisses were lonely and didn't want to stand alone in the cold breath of after lips parted. 

One

Two

Three.

"Abbie,"

One

Two

Three.

She giggled as his fingers grazed her sides, her ticklish spot.

One

They pulled away.

Two

He held her in his arms, falling back on the bed and taking her with him. She smiled up at him, his own face so blissful as she snuggled closer. Lips touched once more.

Three.

"Goodnight,"

"Goodnight,"

************************

"You're really tense," Jenny grumbled as she worked at a knot in Frank's shoulders.

"oh," he groaned.

"Would you shut up? Abbie and Crane are gonna think we're bumping uglies over here," she admonished as she dug her fingers in.

"Ohhhhh," Frank moaned again, with more gusto. "Ohhh Jenny,"

Jenny paused in her administrations. "Okay, now you're over exaggerating." She grinned when Frank looked over his shoulder at her. 

"I've been really stressed Mills! My life has been absolutely topsy turvsy. I died, I came back, I was under Henry's control, I got my soul back, you hid my family, Cynthia fell in love with Abraham, Macey is mastering magic.....there's a boy downstairs who I'm gonna whoop if he even thinks about dreaming about even touching Macey's chair---"

"Aww come on," Jenny poked Frank. "Freddie's sweet,"

"Freddie?"

"He's a good guy, I mean he gave his soul for love, to save her ancestor, I mean, the picture of supernatural heroics right there,"

"Jenny?"

"Yeah Frank?"

"Shut up and come here," Frank growled, hooking an arm around her waist. Jenny plunked down on his lap. 

"Now what?" she asked. Frank shrugged. 

"Nothing, we just sit here a moment. Soak in each other's company. Exist. I need stillness for a while Jenny. Just something solid for a moment."

Jenny pressed her lips to his cheek. "I'll be your rock, Frank. I'm wild by nature, but I can weigh anchor, right here,"


	38. Chapter 38

Macey was the first one awake the following morning. She took her time getting ready, her magic at least granted her an enhanced sense of independence as she rummaged through her closet, got in her chair, and with a wave, it floated downstairs. She heard grumbling coming from one of the rooms and she paused outside the study, cracking the door, and smiled to see Bram and her mother cuddled up on the floor, Bram was talking in his sleep and Cynthia was snoring, and it shocked Macey that she thought they looked, just right. Smiling to herself, she coaxed her chair towards the back door towards the yard and stables, she thought she might go check on Frederick Deeds.

Macey wasn't sure what she had been expecting. Maybe that he would be nestled in a mound of hay with bits and pieces littering his clothes and hair. Maybe she'd even thought he'd be folded in on himself in his stall. What Macey had not expected was that Frederick Deeds would be running laps around the property---horse speed laps---his hair blowing back from his forehead and if she wasn't mistaken, she was sure he his heavy breathing sounded like the chuff of a horse. And he was shirtless. Her face coloured. "Hey!" she called, averting her eyes. 

Frederick Deeds whipped his head around, his eyes landing on her at the back door and he started to well...trot....over to her. "Good Morning!" he yelled as he approached, glistening and sweat and chest heaving. 

"What are you doing?" Macey called back.

"Running!" he explained happily. " Feel the wind in my hair, the freedom of it! That's the only thing I might miss about being a horse" he smiled widely, and grief, Macey thought his teeth were too white, and possibly big. Upon closer inspection, Macey found herself wondering if spending all that time in a horse's body had some how altered his features, or if he's always been sort of.....horsey looking. His nose was long and angular, a strong jaw, the eyes were too dark, animal dark, gentle creature dark, the eyes you expect too look back at you from a loyal pet. And he seemed to robust for a....boy.....of perhaps no older than seventeen at most. And yet it in spite of all that, he was.....alright looking. Alright enough that Macey was getting increasingly flustered about talking to a shirtless boy in the backyard. A perfect stranger. 

Toby had been a stranger. She corrected herself. Deeds had been with them almost from the start, Bram had had him forever. He had helped them when they were in need. But was being loyal to a master the same as being loyal to a human, Macey wondered. 

"My brothers and I used to love to---" and then reality hit Frederick like a ton of bricks as his legs buckled beneath him and his knees crashed to the ground. "They're dead," he said, as appalled that he hadn't considered it before, the joy that moments flickering in his face replaced by grief and loss. "They've all gone now, for years, decades---" he bent over and heaved, a palm to the grass. Macey frowned and rolled closer to him. 

"You know, there's probably a spell---" she began before his hand shot up and gripped hers. His face was grave and but his voice was calm and full of conviction.

"No." he said. " To send me back to the past, would be to alter everything. I'd still have probably married that horrid woman, and Nora.....I wouldn't have been able to protect her. And I wouldn't have been able to aid one of her lineage. There is a light in your eyes that is just like hers," he said softly, mournfully. "I do not regret my choice. I will....adjust." he gave a firm nod, wether to assure Macey or himself she couldn't be sure and he stood, her hand still in his, a gentle upturn of the corner of his mouth.

**************************

Cynthia winked awake before Bram did. She blinked the sleep away and took in her surroundings. The array of pillows and cushions, satin, silk, cotton and down, the throws in chunky knits, fine wool and cozy faux fur, she bunched a blanket in her hand, assuring herself it was real. She cast her gaze on the books lining the shelves, the spines titles blazing at her, begging to be read and promising knowledge. Curiosity sparked through her. Cynthia had never felt a draw to the books in the study, nor any particular draw to books themselves, until now. Everything Cynthia had thought she'd known about the world had been proven wrong or incredibly different than what she'd believed, leaving a whole of sorts, one that needed to be filled. Questions she'd never had and answers she'd never thought she'd want. Adventures. Facts. History. Cynthia was hungry for books, for the possibilities, for journeys, for life. Her eyes landed on the desk where last night she had sat with Bram, lips brushing, fingers grazing and endearments flitting back and forth between them. Wonder. Wonder that there were so many things she'd never known, and never felt, even at her age---she had never felt so giddy as last night. She couldn't remember ever making such impassioned speeches, such heated exchanges with Frank. Their love had been a mature steady thing. What she had with Bram was ungoverned and reckless and young. She marvelled that there could be so much in life she still had to experience, so much that Bram had to experience, so many stories they could read together, write together, share with their children----

Excuse me? cut in a part of her brain. That logical, rational part of her brain that had been absolutely absent from the day she set foot through that door. I know you did not just say 'children' it continued. 

You have a child. some other rebellious voice spoke up. 

You already have a child. Practically grown.

I know you didn't just think about---

but the image was already there, a library with all of her favourite books and Brams and Macey's, some from their friends, ancient tomes from Crane perhaps, detective novels from Frank, the tales from their childhood, classics, littering the shelves, and big comfy arm chairs, with 'children'--her brain hissed with disgust---clambering into her lap and his, a baby in her arms as Bram performed voices for different characters, inspiring that child with wonder and hunger for more out of life. Don't take it at face value, your life can be a unique novel, a story all its own, if you dare to be outside the box, to dream---

Are you listening to yourself? her brain chided.

Stop it! 

At your age?

You've just met the man! it ranted but that wasn't true. That isn't true, she pushed back against that panicky part of her brain. She knew Bram, there were finer points that needed discovering sure, like his favourite colour, or flavour of ice cream, but she loved this man. That had to count for something, right?

So do teenage pregnanices her mind whispered and Cynthia had to stop from shouting back at herself' I'm not a teenager!' 

But. Truthfully, he hadn't even been human 48 hours yet. She couldn't possibly already have babies on the brain---they hadn't even slept together yet----her eyes trailed down to Bram's arm draped across her, imagined him rubbing a burgeoning belly---NOPE NOPE NOPE---and she began to shift when she felt his hold tighten.

"No," he mumbled sleepily and Cynthia sighed before trying to tug away again. 

"Bram," she called softly. "Get up,"

He pulled her closer, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don't wanna," he said childishly. 

"You have to," Cynthia insisted. "It's morning," she added, as if that would spur him to rise. That and I'm daydreaming about having babies with you and being so close to you right now really isn't helping my reasoning faculties she thought to herself, feeling increasingly flustered. "We need breakfast," she continued but Bram merely growled. 

"No," his voice sounding low and possessive as he pulled her yet closer.

"You need to eat," she protested weakly. 

"I could just eat you," he whispered huskily, pressing a kiss to her neck and shivers danced up and down Cynthia's spine. "I could sustain on you alone,"

"You don't know that," she retorted. She turned around just enough to see that Bram's eyes were glinting with mischief.

"We could try and see," he jested wickedly. 

"What did we say about not rushing?"

Bram cupped her face. "I would never rush that, Cynthia, I assure you. I like to savour my food,"

That's it! her brain exclaimed, raising a white flag. I submit! Words like that could impregnate you alone! Byeeeee! and Cynthia envisioned that logic had effectively shut the door on her and her emotional dilemma. 

She couldn't possibly be thinking about having another baby, could she? 

and could she dare even DREAM of mentioning such a thing to Bram?

Even a former demon would balk at that jump, wouldn't he?

She'd wait. She decided, none to convinced as Bram began kissing along her neck. That could wait. They still had time to get to know more of the other, to date, all of that other stuff before .....having that conversation. 

"Stop that," she smacked him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm starving," she stressed, rising to her feet and tugging him along with her. "What do you want for breakfast,"

"You," Bram whined as he lumbered along behind her and Cynthia laughed as they started moving around in the kitchen, eggs, ham, did they have pancake mix? and Cynthia stole a glance at Bram as he cracked his neck, tied his hair back and put the kettle on. 

And damn her brain.

She imagined a little girl and boy swinging their legs at the kitchen table. 

A toddler on Bram's hip.

A human being taking form in her womb. 

She groaned.

"Something wrong?" Bram asked, completely unaware of the irrational, absurd, silly thoughts flitting through Cynthia's mind. 

"Fine!" she answered too quickly, ducking her head out the kitchen and muttering. "They must damn well think this is a hotel---WAKE UP!!!!" she hollered. 

Bram wiggled a finger in his ear. "That ought to do it. I imagine that would rouse a dead man. Woe be on our children," he chuckled before his face froze.

Did he just? Cynthia blinked back at him in shock. 

They gazed at each other a moment, daring the other perhaps to clarify that statement, or to take on the awkward business of brushing it off. Instead, Cynthia cracked a smile at him, and he smiled back, sharing a laugh as they went back to the business of preparing breakfast. 

And they both suddenly pictured little children looking dazedly at each other, trying to make sense of the strange subtext of adults.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> um. more fluff. 
> 
> I'm feeling.....fluffy these days.

"Captain Ichabod Crane!" Crane bolted upright into a salute.

"Oh no," Abbie groaned as the bed bounced with his exuberant rising. "Damn Cynthia has a set of lungs on her." only then did Abbie take in the startled awake form of Ichabod next to her, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and then began to snicker.

Ichabod blinked rapidly, coming to himself, before peering down at the woman beside him. "And what so amuses you, Miss Mills?"

Abbie threw an arm over her eyes, still laughing. "Oh no no no," she laughed, gesturing towards his head. Confused, Ichabod rose off the bed and approached the dresser, peering into the mirror before yelping in surprise. 

"God's Wounds!" he exclaimed. "What has happened to my hair?"

Abbie let out a shuddering exhale. "That has to be the worst case of bed head I've ever seen," she smiled. Part of Ichabod's hair was laying flat, but the back park had crunched into a gnarled mess, and on the side it was sticking up at haphazard unruly angles. It was like he'd tried combing his hair with a fork, or gotten it caught in a blender. 

"How did this happen?" he gasped, trying to detangle the strands himself, hissing when his fingers hit a snarl. 

"Your hair was probably still damp. How has this never happened to you before?"

"Miss Mills a great many things has happened to me in my lifetime, you'll forgive me if this particular incident has never graced my existence," he quipped, turning his head to and fro to take in the whole mess of it. Abbie bit back a laugh and rose up on her knees and half crawled to the edge of the bed.

"Come here," she called, and grudgingly Ichabod approached her. Abbie backed up a bit leaving space before her. "Sit down," she said and Ichabod sat obediently and his eyes fluttered closed as he felt Abbie's fingers gliding through his locks. Swiftly, she rose from the bed, dashed to her room, grabbed a comb and brush and returned, repositioning herself behind Crane on the bed and began the steady business of righting the massive wrong of Crane's head of hair. "Just sit still," she cooed, her fingers working nimbly and with care as she parted and detangled with brush and comb. 

"Anymore still and I'd be stone,"Crane reached an exploratory hand up to his head of curls and felt the smart rap of the comb on his knuckles. 

"Don't touch," Abbie admonished. "This will be over in a sec," 

**********************************

"Nope," 

Macey jolted apart from Frederick, quickly dropping his hand. She looked over her shoulder and found her father glaring down at the pair of them.

Frank shook his head. "Nope nope nope not having it. No sir, your mother's calling you for breakfast missy," he pointed vaguely towards the kitchen, but Macey didn't want to move. She knew that look in her father's eyes. That was his interrogative police look. His I'm going to uncover all of your secrets look. His I'm going to eat you alive if you even so much as look at Macey again look.

"What the hell you doing with no shirt on?" Frank inquired. Frederick blinked at him.

"Running, sir. I was telling Macey how much I enjoyed the freedom of running,"

"Before or after you were holding hands?"

Understanding dawned in Fredericks calm eyes. "Oh," he said slowly, and then his face lit up. "Oh, no sir. I meant no offence. Macey was offering me comfort,"

"Oh she was, was she?" and Macey felt her father's steely gaze travel in her direction, and she felt that as her cue to exit, swiftly. With a gentle tap, the wheels of her chair spun and carried her out of sight and hearing of her father, leaving Frederick to face Frank alone.

"Sir?"

"Yes," Frank answered. 

"It had only just occurred to me, that I am alone in this new year. And I was distraught. Macey thought to lighten my spirits. It was I who took her hand, and I was wrong for it. The times are not so different, in some ways," he explained. Frank looked him over and gave a barely noticeable nod.

"Careful around my daughter, you hear me?"

Frederick bowed. Bowed! Frank rolled his eyes as he turned to walk away. "Cynthia's calling for breakfast, if you've grown tired of hay and carrots,"

Fredericks ears perked up. "Carrots? are there carrots? I wouldn't mind one If there were," 

Throwing his arms up in the air Frank went grumbling back into the house, muttering about strange boys and old world manners and horsey mannerisms and men out of time, men resurrected, and how there would soon be enough resurrected men running around to start a fraternity. 

***************************

Bram was not the only one who spluttered at the sight of Ichabod as he came into the kitchen. Ichabod's face was flushed. Jenny was hiding a laugh behind her hand and Cynthia stared determinedly at her plate, willing herself not to laugh. Abbie stood beside him, her face beatific if not a hint mischievous. 

"I have a do-rag up stairs if you want it, thug life," Jenny drawled, and that was it, the whole room burst into laughter because Abbie had combed back Ichabod's hair into cornrows. 

"Abbie," he hissed, clearly dismayed. "You said they wouldn't laugh,"

"No," Abbie corrected, chucking him gently under the chin. "I said they wouldn't laugh for long. Besides, I think it's a nice change of pace,"

Bram met eyes with Cynthia across the table and a silent agreement passed between them. 

I'll let you cut my hair if you promise never to do that, Bram's gaze ticked over to Ichabod.

Agreed, Cynthia smiled silently.

The kitchen was full of chatter and laughter and too much relief. They could all start floating into the air for how light and breezy they felt after all they had been through. Frederick and Macey chatted awkwardly, with great pauses in between, and Frank glaring across the room. Similarly Bram was eying Frederick keenly and Cynthia smirked. 

"Are you and Frank going to gang up on the poor guy?"

"You would think knowing he was once my steed would make me trust him faster," Bram tore his gaze away. "it doesn't."

Cynthia swallowed the bite she was chewing, considering them. "If what he says is true. He's been bound to my family for centuries."

"Which would make him?" Bram prompted. The room had suddenly gone quiet, unbeknownst to Cynthia and Bram the other conversations had died down and now they were all looking over at Frederick Deeds, with his gentle creature eyes and Macey with her wide confused ones. 

"What, what are you guys looking at?"

Jenny glanced pointedly at the small pile of carrot nubs beside Fredericks feet. The carrot that he was holding aloft, mid bite. "Oh, nothing at all."


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First date.

It had been Macey's idea, announced perhaps too loudly and too excitedly that Cynthia and Bram should go on a date. 

Out of the house.

In town.

You know, like regular people. 

Not Captor and Captive.

Witch and Demon

More like, a divorcee and a man with a new lease on life. 

"How long have you been reciting that one?" Cynthia had asked with a quirked brow. And while her and Bram had both been a bit skeptic of the idea, ridiculous, because they'd just spent the previous night all cuddled up together---somehow the idea of a 'date' seemed to come with it a burden of expectations. Precedents. Rules. Cynthia and Bram weren't quite up to task on following rules anymore. However, the rest of the gang had so happily agreed on what a wonderful idea it was that she'd literally had no chance to protest before the girls were rifling through her closet and the men had made off with Bram.

Cynthia groaned as Jenny and Macey plucked item after item, making tsking noises. "I'm a grown woman" Cynthia heard herself mutter for what she was sure must have been the tenth time since they'd arrived back in her bedroom. Abbie shook her head.

"Believe me, once Jenny gets going, no stopping her,"

"This?" Jenny consulted with Macey on a teal asymmetrical dress, to which Macey wrinkled her nose. "This?" she held up a blouse.

"No. Grief, mom none of this stuff suits you anymore,"

Cynthia regarded her daughter seriously. "Excuse me?"

"Have looked at yourself lately?" Macey retorted. Grumbling Cynthia strode over to the mirror. Okay, so, she wasn't wearing makeup, and her hair was down, curling at the ends, and she was dressed very.....plainly. She looked back to her closet full of the glittering polished button up clothes. She sighed. 

"Well make something," she said off handedly, flopping back down on the bed and yelped when her clothes turned into a mint green dress, fit and flare sleeveless with a white cardigan and wedged sandals. Her hair swept up and arranged itself into a braided contraption of a style that she was sure Macey had seen on Pinterest. But. She looked nice. Lovely. Pretty. Refreshed. Her accessories were simple and glittering, and she picked up the small purse Macey had been kind enough to conjure. Her daughter was beaming with pride.

"When did you get so good at this?" 

"I don't know! ever since yesterday, my magic seems, so much easier. Less confused. More sure, I feel way more in control," Macey beamed and Cynthia kissed her daughters cheek. 

"Well ladies?" she gave a twirl and Abbie and Jenny smiled and clapped their approval. "Great," she said, and then. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

*******************************

"Most rules of chivalry still apply," Crane cautioned. "But you mustn't undermine her own agency. Cynthia is a capable woman,"

"Boy is she capable," Irving chimed in.

"And you need to remember during your courtship that you are equal partners, halves of a whole, there is no governing of what her role is or dictating her behaviour or----"

"I think I know how Cynthia likes to be treated," Bram muttered through gritted teeth while Crane fixed his collar. Crane of all people, had helped him pick out a modern outfit. Shirt, vest, jeans(regular ones) and some rather nice brown shoes. Irving meanwhile watched as Bram fidgeted and Frederick sat in the corner of the room, mildly interested. But largely distracted. 

"What's wrong with you?" Frank asked.

"I feel.....well." 

"But?" Frank prompted.

"When away from Macey, I feel bereft."

The sudden stillness in the room was marked. 

"Try that again," Frank suggested, his voice tight. 

His face flushing red Frederick stared down at his hands. "I have erred once more,"

"It would seem so,"

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?" Bram cut in, leaning into the mirror and tidying his hair, pulling it back in a neat straight pony tail down his back. 

"Which is?" 

"What the hell does one do on a date?" 

****************************

"You're beautiful," Bram said softly when Cynthia was presented to him at the front door. Cynthia smiled shyly at him. She had butterflies. BUTTERFLIES. Was this how it was going to be from now on? as if from ground zero? shy hands fumbling for each other in dark theatres? short pecks and furious blushing? Giggling and small talk? She was having anxiety about this, after all it had been some time since Cynthia had dated. And more than a century for Bram.

"You're handsome," she replied, stroking his cheek, determined to shove nerves out of the way. They drank each other in a moment before someone cooed at them and snapped them back into reality.

Crane thrust a paper into Bram's hands. "What's this?" Bram asked, looking it over.

"Your itinerary" Macey said proudly. Deeds nodded agreeably at her side, visibly less distressed. 

"Pardon me?" Cynthia cut in.

"On our rest day," Crane explained. "We took in some of the sights of Risen Hearth, we've compiled a list of places you could go for the day."

"Should keep you busy till nightfall."

"Night fall," Cynthia repeated. "Why, what's happening tonight?" she turned her suspicious gaze on Macey who looked back at her with plotting eyes. 

"Just don't come home before eight. Call before you start heading back." Macey waved and a strong gust of wind blew Cynthia and Bram both out the house and halfway down the path into town. Cynthia staggered a moment, grabbing Bram's arm to steady herself. 

"She's.....advanced quickly, hasn't she,"

"Yes," Cynthia straightened, checking that her hair was in place, about to pull away when Bram patted her hand curled around his arm.

"I like this," he said simply "If it doesn't offend your modern sensibilities to walk like this with me?" 

"Just walk,"

*****************************

They had promptly discarded the itinerary, seeing as they were both starting fresh and going on their first date for the first time in a number of years, they thought they'd play it by ear. Let the day plan itself. Follow their whims and hearts.

They quickly discovered Bram did not favour sweets as much as Crane did, though he did like them.

Cynthia liked peanut butter ice cream. Bram liked it even better with sprinkles.

They were equally puzzled at the Risen Hearth Museum but equally enchanted with a busker playing the violin at the park.

They meandered through the streets, talking as if words were air and they needed the chatter to survive. Bram had played piano and had been a fine singer in his boys choir.

Cynthia had been an alto in choir, with a few highschool theatre credits to her name.

He liked the colours blue, yellow and green. Cynthia didn't have a favourite, she just liked bright things. They were wandering by the church at six o clock when they heard the music for evensong and they'd discussed faith then, too. They were both believers, still, which was remarkable, and they questioned if Cynthia would be able to cross that threshold without bursting into flame. Did being a witch come with an inherent....evil in her veins? But then Cynthia had smelled vanilla and orchids, had felt a shift in the air as the reverend hovered near the door, ushering people in. He smelled of magic, she thought, and the mans eyes locked on hers, kind eyes. 

"Maybe, maybe, it's more about the intent of the magic, and what I use to draw on it," Cynthia concluded. "Do you want to go? next Sunday maybe?"

"I'd like that, very much,"

******************************

It was half past seven when they ordered carrot cake at the coffee shop, sitting across from each other on the patio, with a cool breeze blowing and the sun beginning to set. 

"I harboured some trepidation about our outing today," Bram admitted around a mouthful. Cynthia wiped icing off of the corner of his mouth, sucking it off her finger and watching Bram's face as she did so. His mouth hung slightly open, his eyes fixated on her mouth.

"You were saying?" she asked sweetly, enjoying watching him snap back to attention. 

"I was saying I was nervous," 

"So was I. I worried that somehow, 'dating' would regress us,"

"Like starting over."

"From the very beginning," Cynthia stabbed at the cake and was about to lift the fork to her mouth when Bram stilled her hand. 

"I would start over for you, Cynthia. You're worth doing it all over again for,"

Blinking slowly Cynthia lowered the fork, taking his hand in hers. "So are you," she lifted his hand to her mouth, pressed a kiss to the back of his knuckles, and she smiled at the way Bram flustered so easily. 

"You're very.....interesting in the way you express yourself. I've traditionally reserved that gesture for women," 

"Men perform certain tasks to make a woman feel precious, dainty, a little fragile. Something they want to treasure, cherish, take great care of. Why can't I treat the man I love the same way?"

"As if I was precious?"

She kissed his pinky finger. "Mhmm"

"Dainty?"

His ring finger. "Mhmm"

"Fragile?"

His knuckles again, middle finger, index, pressed her plump lips to the pad of his thumb. "Do you object?" she inquired, her voice a soft purr. Bram swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Only in public," he said, his voice had gone hoarse. "In private, you can kiss me however you like, wherever."

"You're blushing," Cynthia noted. 

"It might have to do with the fact that a very attractive women just told me how much she treasured me and is attempting to woo me as I would have done a woman in my time,"

Cynthia snickered. "Attempting?"

"Consider me wooed," Bram snapped, his face flushing again but Cynthia didn't release his hand. She instead stroked her thumb along the back of it, turned it over to trace his life lines and then kissed his palm. "Are you quite finished?" Bram rasped. 

Cynthia checked her watch. "Well, we are walking back. I'll call Macey and tell her we're headed home,"

**************************

The trail back up to the house was winding and dark but peacefully quiet, and the sky was clear, stars twinkling above them and a moon full and glowing. Cynthia's fingers were interlocked with his as they walked back, at a snails pace, to be honest, because there was something about the moonlight. The darkness. The two of them there alone. It brought back memories. A dangerous encounter with Famine, a ride home. The tip of an iceberg. Bram seemed to be remembering that night too, stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. Tracing the shape of her face with his eyes. Imagined following that same trail with his lips---when Cynthia came to a full stop, tugging Bram backwards. 

"Cynthia?"

"Just, a moment, right here," she said quietly, leaning against the trunk of a tree, pulling him towards her. She reached for his hands and wrapped them around her waist, throwing her own arms around his neck. She admired the way the moonlight played across the planes of his face, the glint in his eyes. The slow smile he was giving her as he bent his head, stepping in closer and sealed the gap between them. This one, was slower, sweeter. Gentle and less about proving and hunger and emotions running high. This kiss was steady, a promise being made. There will be more kisses, it consoled. There will be more moments like these, of my lips on yours, memorizing the curve and the way they move, the maneuvers of your tongue, your quiet sighs and soft moans and how your fingers curl and your breath catches. There will be more moments of warm breath panted on necks and salty licks, and soon there will be strokes and caresses and cries of pleasure but for now, we have these kisses, these soft reassurances that there will be more. They say a man addicted is a man doomed. 

If it is your lips that would condemn me, I accept damnation.

Yet I know, by the way my heart leaps and my body calls to yours, that salvation is what I have found here. Your kisses save me. They quench my thirst. I could drink you dry, so thirsty am I, so parched---but for now, just these kisses, like a gentle tide, my love, these kisses will suffice. When they pull away, Cynthia latches onto his arm again as they continue home, Bram's arm hooked around her waist, their heads knitted together.

******************************

Once through the front doors Cynthia and Bram kiss again, giddy, perhaps, from a successful first date when an exultant shout jolts them apart.

"SURPRISE"


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Dance!
> 
> and......there's something about Macey.

"What the hell?" the duo yelped in tandem, shielding their eyes from the bright lights, staggering back towards the front door, grasping for each other as they went. More exuberant shouts assaulting their ears. 

"Devil below what's the meaning of this?" Bram roared, blinking in the glare. 

Macey seemed to glide towards them out of a cloud of light, Deeds trailing closely behind. "We planned a special evening for you guys. Happy first date, second day as a human, anniversary!" 

Cynthia choked. "Excuse me?"

"The child said she coerced us all into planning an evening for you too, so if Bram will come with me, and Cynthia go with the ladies, and you'll have supper shortly," Frank drawled, his expression mock bored. Once more, Jenny and Abbie took off with Cynthia, Crane with Bram, the two of them pulled apart, their fingers stubbornly gripping for the other as they were whisked in opposing directions, up separate stair cases to different wings---

"Wait a damn minute," Cynthia huffed as she fumbled along behind the women. "I've been living here long enough to know we don't have two sets of stairs here and we do not have different wings and--"

"Macey," the Mills sisters answered in unison. Cynthia's knees went weak but Abbie and Jenny steadied her. 

"But-but how---she was struggling only days ago, how did she manage to create structures---"

Jenny shrugged. "She's very attuned to herself suddenly. I think she's catching up to mother dearest," 

"I'm glad for her don't get me wrong, but it worries me that she's experiencing such a power surge," 

"Worry over that later," Abbie patted her hand comfortingly as they took a left turn and then another and marched her into her much redecorated, much enhanced and....fairytale-d bedroom. 

"Well I've always wanted a canopy," Cynthia murmured appreciatively as she took in her surroundings, feeling the silk on the bed, and the velvet of the curtains. 

"Does Macey watch alot of period dramas? Tudor england or anything?" Jenny mused absently.

"She has always had....diverse tastes," Cynthia replied, walking around the room, inspecting the great armoire, the full length mirror, and the gown, that had been hung up on the wall for her to wear. "Is this spell she's cast, permanent?"

Abbie pursed her lips. "It's been holding strong for the past few hours. The only thing we actually did was pick accessories and prepared dinner. She managed the rest, barely broke a sweat."

"There's something odd about her progress---" Cynthia muttered to herself but clipped the thought as Jenny plunked her down before the vanity, unpinned her complex braided up-do and then allowed Abbie to take over, putting her hair in a half knot, letting tendrils fall around her face. "I think this is all a bit over the top," Abbie gave an amused nod but continued pining strands in place before stepping back and gesturing toward the screen for Cynthia to change behind. "I mean, it was just a date, he just got his head and life back, I think this is all too soon, it's overwhelming---it's going to terrify him," it was terrifying her, to be honest. 

She heard Jenny yawn on the other side of the screen. "Crane said Bram loved parties before that whole soul selling demon business, so he should enjoy this. Should remind him of home. You need help back there?"

"No, I'm fine, there's only a hundred buttons on the back of this thing," 

Chuckling, Abbie and Jenny exchanged a glance and finished helping Cynthia change into her gown.

******************************

"I suppose I should thank you," Bram grumbled, once more under Crane's administrations as he brushed his hair back, tying it off expertly and clapped him on the shoulders, leaning down into the mirror, his face appeared beside Bram's.

"You many thank me if you wish, but it is merely my attempt to restore our friendship."

"I did say I forgave you," he turned his head slightly, admiring himself. "And that I was sorry for what I've done. I have much still to atone for." his face was downcast. "I am not sure I am deserving of such celebration. For all my recent adjustments, my past is still so dark and marred with violence and---"

"Abraham," Crane cut in, gesturing for him to rise, he grasped Bram's arms. "The Abraham Van Brunt I know did not dwell on the past."

"The Abraham Van Brunt you know was before I chose murder to heal my hurt. I am not that man anymore, Ichabod, you must understand that. But I am not the monster either. The question stands now, who I am, today. Beyond being alive,---"

"And madly in love," Crane added with a smile. 

"And very deeply in love," He conceded, smiling back at his friend, Bram adjusted his coat. "I find myself on a journey to discover who I will be, this time around," 

"I have been there, Abraham. Know that if you have need, I will be your confidante once more."

"I thank you for your friendship," Bram nodded. Crane's lips twitched and he clapped the man on the back. 

"Come on, time for dinner downstairs,"

"You know, I'm still of the persuasion that this is....too much. I'm sure Cynthia will dislike it."

"I have seen the way she looks at you," Crane intoned, his voice warm with knowing. "She can dislike nothing once you are there,"

"You're going to be an insufferable know-it-all all over again aren't you?"

******************************

Downstairs, Frank, Macey and Deeds waited to serve them dinner. Frank and Deeds had towels draped over their arms. Frank had loudly protested but Deeds had given a nod and gone along with it, meek as a sheep, as obedient a loyal companion. Frank's eyes narrowed. There was something bizarre about Macey's sudden magical breakthrough, and subsequently Frederick's own single minded compliance to her almost every whim. Not natural. Not the conventional sort anyway. Macey had chosen a blue dress for herself, waiting at the head of the table for the couple to come through.

"What on earth possessed you to do this?" Frank asked his daughter.

Macey waved her hand off handedly. "Evil defeated, new friends, Mom's in love, I feel amazing, what's not to celebrate. We've never had means to do something like this before, why not have fun?"

"I think you're abusing your power," he hedged. 

Frederick frowned at him, about to open his mouth but snapped it shut the moment Franks gaze fell on him. "Don't even think about it," he warned, fixing his eyes on the entranceway as they waited for Cynthia and Bram to come through. The delicate tapping of heels met a sure footed stride out in the hall. They listened to the footsteps halt in silence. Soft murmuring. Someone declaring how lovely the other looked. The other wondering if they'd played enough dress up for the day. Was level of difficulty getting into the garment the measure of its quality? a chuckle in response, before the pair of feet moved off again, headed towards them. Frank inhaled sharply. "Well, well," 

Cynthia's dress was off the shoulder intricate delicate lace sleeves in peach and yellow flaring slightly at her wrists. The neckline edged in lace as well, showing off the single glittering red stone there, a replica of the necklace she had worn before it shattered. The dress nipped in at her waist and flared at the bottom, skidding across the floors as she walked in, arm in arm with Bram, tall, polished, ginning, smugly grinning in his blue coat with the tails and gold buttons and crisp white shirt. 

"What a handsome pair," Frank said, unable to deny the charming picture they made, only questioning sourly for a moment if he and Cynthia had ever looked so lovely together. He pulled out the chair for Cynthia, and Frederick got the one for Bram. There were candles lit on the table, and the rest of them filtered in, all dressed in their own finery and frippery, though none as lovely as the outfits donned by the guests of honour. Macey clinked a glass. Frank eyed her. "That had better be grape juice,"

Ignoring him Macey cast her gaze on the table. "To defeating evil," Crane rose next to her. 

"To restoring friends," he gazed fondly at Abbie seated beside him who took her turn. 

"To new love,"

"To new lives," Frederick beamed.

"To new lives," Bram echoed, lifting his glass. 

"To dressing up in magically conjured chambers and dining rooms," Jenny interjected. "Because, reasons," 

They shared a round of laughter. Cynthia gazed fondly at Bram across the table, and he stretched his hand out to her, rolling her eyes in disbelief she placed her hand in his. 

"To finding yourself." She said, her voice full of quiet intimacy, she locked eyes with all of those surrounding the table. "To finding who you are, defining yourself by your standards, trusting yourself, becoming yourself. Loving who you are. Loving those who love you, To family." She lifted her glass, knocking it gently with Brams. "To us."

"To us." they chorused and then began the feast, Frank and Frederick performing a quick change and joining the others at the table.

******************************

"Macey you and I are gonna have a talk about what spell books you've been reading," Cynthia found herself flabbergasted once more. "Like which incantation creates a ball room with arched ceilings and wall to wall windows?" 

After dinner, Macey had gleefully glided down the hall, the others trailing behind her as she and Deeds led the procession, and then, throwing open massive grand oak doors---which had NOT come with the house---they opened onto a sprawling ballroom, a domed ceiling, chandeliers and windows that let the starry night in, floors meant for dancing on, and she'd bewitched the piano to begin playing as they'd walked in, not to mention the other instruments she had created to join in, all playing themselves, melodiously in the corner. 

"Pretty impressive, huh,"

"Don't get smug," Cynthia chided half heartedly as Bram took her hand in his. 

"I believe, I owe you a dance,"

"You do, and you promised it'd be something worth waiting for."

"You know I haven't danced in two hundred years you might consider going easy on me,"

"Not on your life," 

And so Bram took Cynthia in his arms, whisking her around in great graceful sweeping steps around the room. Cynthia was surprised her feet were so light and followed the steps so easily, Bram himself seemed equally pleased that he remembered how they went, before long they were laughing, their voices merry and echoing around the room as they danced, loosening up and changing steps very so slightly, a twirl here, a turn, a small lift, and after a moment the others filtered on to the floor. Macey watched happily from her place near her makeshift orchestra, Frederick stood loyally beside her, watching them.

"She looks happy, your mother,"

"He looks happy, your old master," 

They shared a smile. "I was never a good dancer," he confessed. 

"I never danced,"

"You could still, your wheels would follow, if you concentrate, if you will it, give me your hand," he said softly.

"You're not even sure it would work," Macey scolded.

"We weren't sure anything we did today would work, but we've confounded our own theories,"

"I can't keep relying on you," Macey pouted, their conversation gone completely ignored by the others all dancing together, changing partners, giggling and calling to one another. "One day you'll have to go your own way and---"

"Macey, you're my friend," he cut her off. Macey barked a laugh, then clapped a hand over her mouth, not wanting to interrupt the joy of the others. 

She tried to picture going to high school with Frederick Deeds, it would take just one jock to spot Deeds running and he'd be on a track team before either of them could blink. He'd be surrounded by athletic able bodied friends, and they'd know athletic able bodied girls, ones who could run and laugh and dance without magic powers and hexes and spells and maybe they'd think Macey was a charming oddity, for a time, before she was left behind. She wouldn't hold Frederick to a bond of friendship, teenagers were too fickle. Besides, they really barely knew each other. She met Frederick's gaze, saw him peering at her intently.

"I am bound to you by self sacrifice, loyalty and gratitude. What makes you think I would leave you now?" he asked, kneeling down to be at level with her. "My choice triggered the gift you would eventually inherit. I do not understand how it has not become clear to you yet. Why this is so much easier for you when we both try."

"Because maybe you have a little magic left over," Macey reasoned. 

"No, no, it's not that Macey, give me your hands." 

Sighing, Macey placed her hands in his, closed her eyes and felt the reassuring pulse of power that sparked between them, the flow like air filling her lungs as her wheels began to turn, following his steps, gliding. She opened them and smiled as Deeds released her hand and pulled her back in, walking around her and guiding her in a gentle spin, he clasped her hands once more, and they waltzed, in their way, her chair co-operating in a nuanced way, as if it thought it were limbs, as if it had a sense of rhythm. 

Macey made a disbelieving sound, "It worked,"

"Of course it worked, Macey," Deeds sounded exasperated with her, but his voice was full of humour as he reeled her in once more, leaning in towards her. His dark eyes twinkled. "I'm your Familiar,"


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I promised myself not to rush this, but alas, here I am. At that moment. I wrote this amidst a thunderstorm last night and it basically wrote itself so here it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have been so amazing commenting and for sticking with me reading this and being SO incredibly supportive, thank you a thousand times!

"My what?" Macey asked, dumbstruck, but before Frederick could elaborate she noticed Abbie sidling over towards the enchanted band. 

"Uh, do these guys take requests?" she asked.

Macey exchanged a look with her Familiar, a brow raised. "I don't know, Frederick, do they?"

"If you will it," he muttered under his breath. "I believe they can,"

Feeling only mildly out of sorts Macey cleared her mind and imagined infusing the instruments with a musicians knowledge, the skills of improv, the years of practicing and learning by ear, a habit of listening to old songs and new, and felt the thrum of power between her and Frederick and while the idea that there might be some sort of....bond, something more potent than she had expected lingered between them, she still enjoyed the surety that came rushing at her that her will would work. That the magic would serve her. Macey nodded encouragingly at Abbie. "Try it,"

Abbie eyed her with suspicion, the close proximity of Deeds to Macey and she looked over her shoulder, double checking that no one had noticed. "Whatever you two are doing, you'd better stop before Frank sees you," she cautioned, a small conspiratorial smile flitting across her face before she tapped the bow of the violin gliding itself through the air. The instruments paused in unison as Abbie muttered to the air her song request before settling into the tune. A slow building song started, and Abbie, because she loved karaoke with a passion she'd barely admit to, began to sing. Macey recognized the song instantly, and felt it was perhaps a tad morose, dramatic, if not gushing and sentimental, and she chose that moment to make her quiet exit with Deeds in tow. The rooms would hold, the music too. If she willed it, and she did, the magic would last until she wished to dispel of it for good. She didn't know how she knew that. Just the surety of it, the surety of her odd companion Frederick Deeds. They parted in the hall, her to her room, and him to the stable. A strange tenuous energy stretching between them, like a wire pulled taut. Was it always going to feel like this? She wondered as she watched him ago. Like an invisible fishing line reeling them back together? How on earth would she ever survive such a connection? especially once they started school again come fall. 

The others slowed to listen to Abbie croon out the song, her voice melodious and ringing in the grand room, and Ichabod watched her fondly, her eyes gazing back out at him and his heart felt so warm. Jenny and Frank waltzed themselves imperceptibly to the door and slipped out, smiling at one another as they disappeared. 

Somehow sensing that if she stopped singing the music would continue, Abbie stepped back from the band and taking the hand Ichabod extended to her, she glided into his arms, kissing him softly on the mouth before they too vanished from the room, leaving Cynthia and Bram alone with the music surging around them, their eyes trained on the other. Their foreheads resting against the other.

"This has been a long day," Cynthia sighed. 

"It has. But it's been incredible,"

"I hope it hasn't spoiled your expectations of modern life. Not every day is like this,"

"I should hope not. The novelty would wear off," he leaned in, pecking her cheek, inhaling the scent of her perfume. Different, than the smell her magic had carried, but still warm and sweet. Still her. "I'm going to say something....a bit brash,"

Cynthia leaned back from him. "Go on,"

"I want to marry you."

Her heart fluttered. "Bram---" a finger to her lips and she fell silent. 

"I am not saying tonight. But I know my mind on this Cynthia. I---I thought Katrina was my love, that I knew her. But I didn't, I know you far better and more thoroughly than I did her. You are what I want from a wife. You are the partner I would choose for matrimony. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you Cynthia I'm going to marry you. For all of our trials thus far, I cannot picture a burden we could not shoulder, together. A foe that we could not overcome. And so much happiness still to be had. Today alone, were you not amazingly happy?"

"I was, I am," Cynthia conceded, feeling like she was running out of air. She wasn't quite convinced walking out of one marriage directly into another was a sound idea. 

This from a woman who was having baby daydreams just this morning, her subconscious scolded. 

"we set our own pace, do we not?" he pressed, his voice noticeably lower. "We make our own time,"

"Yes," Cynthia agreed slowly, unsure where this was headed when the violin picked up the melody line again, and Bram began to hum and murmur the words he remembered Abbie singing. His face was open, adoring, vulnerable. Cynthia listened carefully to the words falling from his mouth in that sweet baritone voice of his. He wasn't just singing the lyrics. He meant them. He was asking her something in them. Her feet slowed their swaying as Bram kept singing, her hand still clasped in his and the other at her waist. 

"Can I, lay, by, your side," his hand reached to caress her face, "next to you? you." his smile was soft, and gentle "And make, sure, you're, all, right." the hand around her waist pulled her closer to him. Cynthia thought she could probably listen to Bram sing forever "I'll take care of you, You." 

"I don't want to be here if I can't be with you, tonight," Cynthia sang back to him, softly, quietly, her eyes locking with Brams as she reached up and kissed him gently. "Yes,"

"To what, my love?"

Cynthia kissed him again, twice more. "Everything" 

******************************

Upstairs, Cynthia closed the door behind him and turned the lock. When she turned back to him sitting on the bed her heart raced. 

We set our own pace. We make our own time. She repeated to herself like a mantra as she approached him, her skirts billowing out around her. 

Bram caressed her cheek. "Yes?" he asked, reaffirming that she was still up to it, still wanted this.

Cynthia scratched her head. "I think, so?"

Taking her hands in his Bram brushed his lips along the back of them before settling them in his lap. "As much or as little as we want Cynthia, even if all you want is help getting out of that beautiful, infernal dress---I saw all those buttons---and then to sleep, that's alright by me. I want to sleep with you. In whatever capacity you will allow it,"

Cynthia took a deep breath before reaching for the buttons on Brams shirt. He watched her slowly, kept his hands still as she worked each one free, gauging her intent as she pushed his jacket, then the shirt off his shoulders. He watched her eyes rake over his body, warm, loving eyes and willed himself not to move. She had to want this, she had to be sure. She ran her fingers lightly over him and then leaned in, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. "I want to get to know you, but I don't want to get you so wound up that I leave you hanging if---if I'm not ready,"

"I'm a grown man, Cynthia, you owe me nothing, so take your time my love, please," he stretched his arms out to his side inviting her inspection, and she moved closer to him, feeling the corded muscles of his forearms and biceps, placing a kiss here and there. The night prior had been all rush and fervour. Firsts and hunger. Tonight, tonight was intimate and slow and careful. When she took up his hand and kissed it, she saw a smile tug at Bram's mouth. "Here we are again," he murmured. 

"I like your hands," she replied, examining his fingers and kissing each tip, watching the flush creep up Bram's neck. Smiling to herself, she turned around and Bram was faced with the row of buttons down her back. "Infernal, was an apt word for this, if you'd be so kind?" she demurred, her tone mildly coquettish.

"There's someting charming about a woman playing at innocence," he mused as his fingers set to work, slowly and casually, admiring the silky dark skin slowly being revealed. 

Cynthia glanced over her shoulder at him. "You know, just because Macey's been wielding her power like a lumberjack with an axe, does not mean I can't shut you up if I need to," she replied coolly. 

"Ah, there she is." Bram cajoled. "There's the biting woman I know," his fingers lingered on the last button, feeling slightly dismayed that he had run out so quickly, especially given that he had been trying very hard to take his time. 

"Are you caught in a button hole back there or what?" 

With a huff, Bram flicked the last button thought it's loop, dragging a finger lightly on her bare back for emphasis before giving her hair a gentle tug. "Impetuous" 

"You're lucky I didn't just burn your shirt off," Cynthia quipped as she swatted him away, clutching the front of the dress to her she disappeared behind the screen and Bram flopped backwards on the bed, watching as her arms appeared over the edge of the screen, long limbs stretching and the dress flung over the side. "Still awake over there?" she called.

"Is that your plan? bore me with waiting?" 

Suddenly, a light flared to life behind the screen and Bram could see the silhouette of Cynthia's form behind it. He sat up slowly, his brain taking a moment to adjust to what was happening. He watched as Cynthia lifted a leg on a stool, stretching up and down it elongating the leg and bringing it in again before turning and performing the same action opposite. The room suddenly felt very warm. Cynthia turned so that she was in profile, and Bram took note of the curves of her form, from her bosom to waist to her rear, to thigh. She arched her back and glided her hands along her body, forcing Bram's eyes to follow their journey. "Did you have these back then?" she asked, her voice steady, as if she wasn't performing an erotic display. "I'm sure you did. Burlesque? did you have that? this is called a strip tease." the sensation of hearing her but not being able to fully see her introduced a whole new level of sensuality and intimacy to the situation as he watched her continue to writhe and turn, bending over and posturing, playing with her hair, all in shadow. She bent over again, swaying her behind and Bram wondered if perhaps Cynthia had been playing him for a fool all along. If she hadn't deliberately been leading him to believe that she was shy and not ready just in order to shock him. He watched her sit on the stool, and leaned back, arching once again and Bram at last groaned at the sight. 

"Either you come out here or I'm coming back there," he growled. 

"Oh? is that a threat?"

"No idle one, I assure you," Bram replied as he slowly rose to his feet and began prowling towards the screen. He watched as her shadow paused in her movements, as if gauging how close he was. "I'll fold this screen like a fan Cynthia,"

"Promises promises," she taunted and Bram grasped the screen and flung it across the room, only to find empty space on the other side. He blinked in confusion and whirled around the room. Her laughter tinkled around him. 

"No," Bram said slowly, gazing around in dumb disbelief. "You can't teleport,"

"You're right, I can't. But invisibility I seem to have a knack for,"

"When did you even have time to learn that one?" Bram asked, exasperated as he grabbed at the air, trying to pin down her location when he felt a warm hand drape across his shoulder, fingers delicately grazing his throat and a warmer body, with soft curves pressing against his back yet he couldn't see anything. It was thrilling if not strange. If not certainly a mix of both. "I hope you don't mean to stay this way." He rumbled as he felt ghostly touches wonder over him, a leg hooked around his from behind and a hand followed, running along his thigh, up and inwards.

"Suppose I did?" lips brushed his ear and he turned swiftly, locking his arms around where her waist should be and just like that her body winked into sight. And what a sight.

He'd pulled Cynthia close against him, and that had been an error on his part because he could very well lose control. Her hair was curly from it's complex styling, tumbling around her face in messy waves. His gaze passed over her face, down her long neck, over her smooth shoulders, down, to the swell of her breasts and he stepped back because he needed to see more, and---

"God above and Devil below," he whispered, his voice low and reverent. He stumbled away from her and landed back on the bed. "You're.....you can't be real,"

Cynthia cocked her head to the side and then made a show of pinching herself. "I feel real," she assured, sauntering towards him. 

"I'm sure you do," he scooted back on the bed, feeling overwhelmed. 

"I think you need to make sure, for yourself," she insisted, stopping a breath away from him. He was at eye level with her bosom and he glanced up at her, saw the challenge in her eyes. 

"I'm ill prepared to bed a goddess," 

"Flatterer,"

Bram leaned back on his elbows, surveying her all over again. "Why are you so gorgeous?"

"I could just lay here on the bed and you could call me beautiful all night,"

"You could. I'm enjoying the view, let me tell you,"

"Bram."

"Cynthia? what is it my darling, what do you want me to do?"

"To touch me, for starters," she smirked.

"Where"

"You pick,"

"You're sure,"

Cynthia bent down to be at eye level with him, sliding her hand around his neck and the other to his jaw she pressed her lips to his. "Yes. Yes. Yes. I am consenting. I am willing. You?"

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Now then," and with that Bram's hands trailed from her thighs up to her hips, pulling her towards him he pressed his mouth to the soft flesh of her abdomen, trailing small pecks, a glide of tongue to taste the skin before moving upwards and nuzzling her full bust, lips moving reverently across each swell, revelling in the soft moan that ghosted through her lips. He felt her hands thread through his hair as he kept kissing, licking and nipping along her chest until he turned her swiftly and she hit the bed with a small sound of surprise before he clambered over her, pinning her wrists on either side. Lowering his head again he took up his trail to her throat and kissed a line along her jaw up to her ear, around the perimeters of her face before at last coming to rest at her mouth, savouring and exploring, slowly he released her hands, bracing himself on the bed and felt her nails grazing his arms and back, drifting lower to grab his behind and he smiled against her lips as he felt her squeeze. "Oh my love," he whispered, kissing his way back down. "Oh what I have planned for you,"

"We're a long way from last night, aren't we," Cynthia breathed. "Claiming we don't want to rush and here we are, only our second night,"

"You stop me if you want me to," Bram said, pausing in his ministrations. "I mean it, if it crosses your mind for a second,"

"We set our own pace." she echoed back at him. "I love you, I trust you." She said, guiding his free hand between her legs. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. "You. I feel like this for you," she whispered. Bram removed his pants and shoes hurriedly, underwear all but thrown over his head as he reached for Cynthia, reclining on the bed before him, her lips swollen from kisses and her eyes beckoning. 

"You keep looking at me like that and I'll be done for"

"Come here," she extended a hand and he took it as he positioned himself over her, she pulled herself up, just enough, to grasp his hair and give him a kiss full of passion and longing, Bram moaned as he lined himself up right, pausing before entry. 

"I love you Cynthia. I have meant every word I've said tonight. I will marry you as soon as you'll have me."

"And I've already told you yes. To everything. You already have me," Her voice was a caress in his ear as she guided him in. Like an arrow struck true. Like a pirate that had found its treasure. Like two halves being welded together for a whole. 

The night progressed with furtive strokes and caresses, kisses and tastes and moans. Such a vast leap from the night prior, both flushed declaring that they didn't want to rush. Such a far cry from their earlier kisses on the way home. Soft things, tokens to tide them over until this moment. But the moment had crashed on them, and it was slow and sweet, an out pouring of love and exploration. Tongues and teeth and wandering fingers and joined limbs and joined parts. And when they had joined it was home. It was belonging and arrival and bliss and joy and pleasure. Their names became a language in themselves. Their names became expressions of ecstasy and longing, their names were declarations of love and satisfaction as they cried out for one another. 

After wards she lay curled protectively in his arms. His lips grazing her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"wonderful, sleepy, but wonderful. You?"

"The same," he smiled down at her and they shared one more kiss goodnight. 

******************************

There are boots at the foot of her bed.

She winked her eyes open and traced the planes of his face with her eyes, reached up to stroke his jaw, and once again, he does not want to get up just yet. She trailed her fingers down to his side, where she discovered the previous night that he is ticklish and he grumped at her. 

"Stop that," but it was a half hearted protest and she persisted until he gave over to chuckling, squirming, and in his haste to get away from her intrusive digits he toppled out of the bed. She peered over the edge, her hair cascading over her shoulder as she looked down at him, blinking dazedly, trying to sort out how he landed on the floor. She hid her stifled her giggle, but it was too late, glaring up at her he grabbed her arm and pulled her down out of the bed onto the floor with him, kissing her passionately, until she was breathless. Panting after he pulled away he gazed down at her grinning ear to ear, tucking her hair behind her ear. She reached up and pulled him down for another kiss. "Good morning," she managed before their lips met.

"Good morning," he breathed. Lips touched once more.

There are boots at the foot of her bed.

They belong to the man she's going to marry. 

One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song featured and quoted in this chapter was Lay Me Down by Sam Smith. 
> 
> I don't think I'm done with this one yet, but I'm unsure if I should carry this on as a sequel or just keep rambling along here, if you have ideas, please let me know!


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because for once they're gonna sleep in and no one cares who makes breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this will wrap soon, I just have a little more fluff to wring out of this one before I move on to a sequel.

Cynthia giggled as Bram's fingers trailed down her back.

"Stop it,"

"You didn't stop when I asked you too," Bram shot back, a lazy grin spread across his face. 

"That's because you're more amusing when ticklish than I am,"

"Oh, I disagree," he nipped her shoulder as she wrestled herself out of the tangle of sheets that had fallen to the floor with them, lunging for a getaway when a hand latched around her foot. She felt him pulling her back. Her fingers scrambled for purchase on the hard wood floors.

"You're not actually dragging me back are you?" she asked, but of course he was, and by the time she'd finished talking his arms had latched around her once more, pulled close against his chest, she threw her head back and looked up at him. "You're impossible," she murmured.

"If that's not the pot calling the kettle black I don't know what is," 

She could have answered him, come up with some biting come back, but it was just as enjoyable to see mischief and mirth dancing in Bram's eyes. To relax into the feeling of his strong arms around her, the awareness of their nakedness, to be so close to him and not have her mind be a warring jumble.

To simply know that he loved her, and she loved him. 

The sheets were draped around them, and she looked down at their hands in her lap. His fingers toying with hers. Tangling and twining. Felt his nose as he nuzzled her neck, a feather light kiss. She'd have never have thought it, previously, but Bram was a highly affectionate, tactile man. Even while they'd slept no toss or turn had managed to turn him away or to loosen the grasp he had on her through slumber. Even now, in the morning light, he was loath to part with her, for even a second. And she hated to admit, she liked it. She liked that he needed her near to him, that he craved her presence and was drawn to her like a bee to honey. Or a magnetic force. Truth be told, she felt similarly. Cynthia really only tried to escape him for the fun of being caught. For the reassurance that he would never let her go. 

*****************************

"The house is strangely quiet," Bram rasped. They couldn't be bothered with breakfast, or lunch, or seeing the others, or the day. Just each other. Each other was plenty to occupy them for now. 

"I'm sure they'd call us if there was trouble," Cynthia assured as she pushed him back on the bed.

What Cynthia liked about Bram was this: He didn't mind being treated gently.

Didn't mind if Cynthia wanted to stroke his bare legs and caress his calf and thigh. Didn't mind if Cynthia kissed the soles of his feet and worked upwards, if she sat astride him and ran her fingers through his hair while she kissed the edges of his face. She liked that before they'd wound back up on the bed that he had let her hook an arm around his waist and draw him near, had let her press him up against the wall, letting her kiss his neck and murmur endearments as she went along. She liked that Bram was secure enough in his masculinity to let himself be romanced. And that he was just as enthusiastic in turn. He was greedy for her touch and hungry for her kisses and was happy enough when Cynthia relinquished control so that he could lavish her with attention and hear her call for him, in quiet breathy tones as he moved gently. 

They were both glad that neither of them were too proud to beg. They were not beyond pleading and asking and imploring the other to "touch me, there, please" "kiss me, yes, yes" they were not ashamed to ask. "here? what if I--" "Yes, right---" to declare, honestly, shamelessly, "I need you," "I want you" "Say my name"

"Cynthia,"

Again

"Bram"

"Say that you're mine,"

"I am yours"

"Tell me I'm yours,"

"You are mine,"

Cynthia heaved a breath, gripping Bram's shoulder. "Abraham," she whispered and at once, they both toppled off the edge of that elusive peak that they had been so leisurely chasing, their worlds trembling and their limbs shuddering as he buried his head in her shoulder. Gasps of air slowed to unified inhalations. Her fingers played with his hair. 

"When you're not looking," she promised wickedly, kissing his ear. "I'm going to give you a haircut,"

"Enchantress I am thoroughly under your spell and powerless to refuse you. Style me as you see fit," he rumbled, turning his face towards hers. "Don't make me regret saying that," he pleaded and Cynthia gently pat his hair and made soothing noises. 

"Don't you worry," she cooed, her other hand grazing his back. "I'll take care of you. You'll be even more irresistible than you are now. If that's possible."

"The ego I'm going to have," Bram rolled off of her and laid a hand on her thigh. "how do I know I'm not dreaming?" he asked her. "That this isn't some long fantasy conjured in the mind of a lonely beast?"

Reaching toward his chest Cynthia placed her hand over his heart, and then hers. He felt a warmth bloom in his chest and when he looked down he saw something like a small flame flickering where his heart beat, and matching flaming dancing against the backdrop of Cynthia's dark skin. " My fire kindles yours and yours mine," she answered, her eyes watching the flames with tenderness. "My heart rages for you, it burns for you, and yours for me. That's how you know this isn't a dream," she pressed her lips to his, as she drew back, her gaze flickered down and his did as well, fascinated as he watched the twin flames dwindle, fading back into their skin. "For as long as our hearts beat, these flames will blaze, whenever you doubt it, yourself, me," Bram stroked the side of her face.

"I will pause and feel the warmth of our love," he said, his eyes were brimming with what he would staunchly deny were tears, not enough to wipe or blink them rapidly away however. "an eternal blaze," 

Smiling, Cynthia repeated after him. "An eternal blaze"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I really wanted to write another intimate scene for these two. :)


End file.
